


Teach Me How

by bibliomaniac



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Aromantic Asexual Character, Fluff and Angst, Hate to Love, Multi, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 23,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6594973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliomaniac/pseuds/bibliomaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're finally living your dream of being a teacher, and everything is perfect...or it would be, if it weren't for that jerk science teacher, Sans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which You Meet Sans

He will never know how she got him to agree to do this. 

If you had told him a few years ago he was going to be teaching basic science to a bunch of snot-nosed little kids—and he’s not just saying that euphemistically, their noses are well and truly snotty—he would have laughed, told you to stop hitting the bar at Grillby’s so hard. Because Sans does not do the whole children-are-our-future thing. He does not do the whole children thing in general. Heck, he didn’t even do the whole child thing when he was a kid himself—too busy taking care of Pap, too busy taking over for a father gone too soon, too busy growing up too fast. 

Anyway, the point is, he’s not exactly a prime candidate for an elementary school teacher. But there’s just something about Toriel that makes you want to say yes—yes, of course I’ll help you and Frisk get settled; of course I’ll help you start up a new school; of course I’ll teach for you at your new school. He’s signing a contract before he really even registers he’s doing it.

Fast forward, and he’s been doing this for two years. It still amazes him sometimes that not only is he playing at being a teacher, but he’s gotten away with it, too. The kids seem to like him. Life is comfortable. He’s got his kids, he’s got Frisk, he’s got Pap. It’s nice.

Everything starts when Frisk turns twelve. See, they’ve got everything set up for grades 1-6, but starting with 7th grade you really need individual teachers for individual subjects and Toriel just doesn’t have enough people on staff. So she puts out ads and their little family starts growing.

You show up a few weeks after the first ad goes out, flushed and bright-eyed and apologizing—“I’m so sorry, I left on time but I completely got lost”—and soon enough you’re being welcomed in by Toriel. Human history, because Toriel has got monster history covered, but for obvious reasons she’s not quite qualified to teach what’s been going on Aboveground and it’s a national requirement. 

Toriel introduces you to the faculty with an admonishment to treat you kindly and to help you out wherever you need it. You’re all smiles and first-day-nervousness and it’s cute, Sans thinks, before turning his attention back to the lesson plans for the day. He’s had to readjust all of his material to work with the new change.

That’s why he doesn’t notice you until you’re right in front of him, a hand hesitantly reaching halfway out to his shoulder. “Um—“

He draws back with a yelp. “whoa!”

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I was calling your name, but—“

“no, it’s fine, i—“ He takes a deep breath and plasters on a smile. “you’re fine. hey.”

You smile hesitantly back. “Hey.”

The silence grows between you, until, “was there something you needed, or…?”

“Oh! Yeah!” You blush. “Sorry. Um, Toriel told me to come to you for a tour? She says she’s sorry, but she’s busy, and—“

He looks over at Toriel, who grins and winks. He suppresses a groan. “oh. yeah, sure. come on, then.”

You follow along beside him as he points out different key rooms. Cafeteria, teacher’s lounge—his personal favorite—and science. You beam at him when he tells you offhand he’s the science teacher.

“Really? I love science!”

“yeah?” he asks disinterestedly.

“Yeah! I used to want to teach biology.”

“what happened?”

“I’m bad at it,” you say bluntly.

“oh. guess that’d do it.”

“Yep. Nothing like a C in AP Bio to crush your dreams.” You laugh. “I still get to teach, though, so I’m happy.”

“teaching makes you happy?”

You stop in your tracks, frowning. “Well, yeah. It doesn’t for you?”

He shrugs. “it’s a job. i figure happiness isn’t really the point. besides, i don’t really like kids.”

Your tone is somewhat cold. “Then why teach?”

He sees Toriel waiting for you in the upcoming Social Studies room and points with a dry expression. “her fault.”

“What is?” she inquires cheerfully, and you straighten up at the sight of her.

“everything,” he says, smiling lopsidedly up at her to let her know it’s mostly a joke.

“Now, don’t be giving a bad impression of me to the new employees,” she chides gently, but she’s smiling too. “I’d say only about eighty percent of things around here are my fault.”

“you give yourself too little credit.”

“Anyway...joking aside, was the tour sufficient, ________?”

“Yeah,” you say brightly. “I think I’ll manage to find my way around.”

“Did Sans behave himself?” Your face twists.

“…Yeah. He was fine.”

Toriel tilts her head in an unspoken question, but lets the matter drop. “Well, all right, then. Students will be coming in soon. First period is going to be monster history with Class 3, the fourth through sixth graders, so you can shadow me to get the hang of how we do things around here. After that will be your first class, with the new seventh graders. That sound all right to you?”

You nod, and all traces of your sour expression vanish. “That sounds great! I’m super excited to meet the kids.”

“I’m sure they’re all excited to meet you too.”

Sans shrugs. “nah, they’re stinkers. betcha they’ll throw spitballs.”

You put your hands on your hips and scowl. “Not all kids are like that, you know.”

He puts up his hands in a placating manner and says, “i know. i was joking.”

“Oh. Sure,” you say, but you sound vaguely disbelieving.

Toriel looks between the two of you and claps her hands together. “Right! Well, we’d all best be off. These children wait for no one!”

Sans raises a hand silently in farewell and traipses down the hallway back to the science room to get ready for his own first class. He doesn’t look back, but he can feel someone’s gaze on him the entire time.

He sort of gets the feeling you don’t like him.


	2. In Which You Don't Like Sans

You don’t like Sans.

You’ve had your fair share of kid-hating teachers from when you were in school yourself, and you’re quite frankly done with them. You don’t have anything against people who don’t like kids, you really don’t! But you don’t understand why you’d hang around kids if you dislike them, either. What’s the point?

You’re still sort of stewing over the whole thing, so much so that you don’t hear Toriel’s gentle prodding until—

“--____? ________?” 

Your head whips up. “Huh?”

All of the kids start laughing, and you blush and scratch the back of your head nervously.

“Welcome back. I just wanted to ask you to introduce yourself.”

“Sorry! My name is _______. I’m new to the Mt. Ebott area, but I’m super excited to be here with all of you guys!”

“What were you thinking about?” pipes up a yellow monster. “I’m Kid, by the way. I’m in sixth grade.”

“Hi, Kid,” you respond automatically. Without really thinking about it, you say what’s on your mind. “I was thinking about the science teacher.”

A chorus of ‘ooh’s raise across the classroom, and your eyes widen as you hastily correct, “Wait, not like that! Um—“

“It’s okay, we won’t tell,” says a girl in the front row mischievously. “We’re rooting for you though!”

You bury your face in your hands as Toriel pats your back, amused. “All right, all right. Enough of that. Now, it’s a new semester, so let’s start with the monster-human war, okay…?”

The class goes on, and eventually you forget your embarrassment in favor of watching Toriel teach. She’s nearly effervescent in her passion for the subject, and it’s obvious the kids love her by how eagerly they raise their hands. You smile and hope that you’ll be even half as successful. 

It’s been your dream to teach ever since you were a kid. You had great teachers all through sixth grade, and you wanted nothing more than to be just like them. 

Then came middle school, and you transferred to public schools and realized that not all teachers liked their jobs. Not all teachers liked kids. Some teachers even took out their unhappiness on those they taught. You decided you hated people like that. And that’s a strong word for you! You try not to hate anyone! But you can’t help but…strongly dislike…those that inflict their biases on others.

(You try to ignore the voice that tells you that’s exactly what you’re doing right now, to Sans. Besides, you’re pretty sure he deserves it.)

You shake your head to clear it of thoughts of that guy and focus on the students. Spitballs your butt. These kids are angels. 

Soon enough, the class is over, and Toriel switches seats with you as you stand nervously up at the front of the classroom.

The seventh graders file in, chatting noisily with each other. At the front, you notice a brown-haired kid and…a flower? Yes, that is indeed a potted flower, with a face drawn on it or something, and—

“What are you looking at?” it says irritably.

And the flower talks. Okay. Wow. You can deal with that. You give your most blinding smile to the flower as apology, and it scowls and looks away. The flower also apparently has an attitude, but you can deal with that too. Probably.

“All right, class!” you say, looking at the clock to confirm that it is indeed time for class to start. “My name is ________, and I’m your new Human History teacher. I want to start off getting to know all of you guys, though, so I’m going to pass out this construction paper and some markers and you’re going to draw me what you think is important for me to know about you, okay?”

“We’re not babies,” grumbles the flower, and your smile freezes. Maybe he’s right, maybe this is a silly activity for seventh graders—

But then, the brown-haired kid next to them frowns and signs, “Shut up,” and all of the kids around them nod in agreement. 

“This is the most fun thing our teachers have had us do all day,” says another kid.

You beam, relieved. “Great! Okay, then you guys have…how’s fifteen minutes?”

They all get to work, except for the flower. You raise an eyebrow expectantly.

“I don’t have hands,” mumbles the flower petulantly. 

You start to worry you might have just done something really insensitive, but Toriel interjects calmly. “Flowey, you can draw just fine with your mouth. And we have arrangements for him regarding notes, by the way,” she turns to you reassuringly. “Frisk takes notes for the both of them.” She indicates the brown-haired kid with her hand.

You smile gratefully at her. “Okay. Flowey, you don’t have to draw if you don’t want to, but I’d really appreciate it?”

He pouts, but picks the marker up with his mouth and begins to make jagged movements over the paper.

In fifteen minutes—well, sixteen and a half, but who’s counting—you collect all of their papers and pick a random one. It turns out to be Flowey’s, and it’s surprisingly well-drawn. It’s a picture of you surrounded by thorns, with some kind of anthropomorphic goat with wings laughing in the corner.

“What did you want to say with this drawing, Flowey?” you ask, even though the answer is pretty obvious.

“I wanted to say that I would like to injure you. Also, I want to be a god again.”

Again? You put that aside, smile tightly and say, “Well, nice artwork, Flowey. Maybe work on the threatening teachers part.”

“Thank you,” he says happily, then adds proudly, “I’m a problem child.”

“Good to know.” You turn to the rest of the class and announce, “Now, I’ll be featuring one of these per day for the next few weeks until I’ve gone through the entire class. But why do you think I chose to start with this?”

A kid raises their hand, and you point to them. “To get to know us?”

“Yeah, definitely, but there’s also another reason. We’re learning history, and history is usually transmitted by people who want other people to know very specific things, like you guys wanted me to know these things about you. Now, something you may not know is that these things aren’t always true. There’s a saying that history is written by the victors, and that’s what happens a lot of the time. It means that those who didn’t win, or those who are oppressed, don’t always have a say. I tried to pick a textbook that was as fair as possible, but you guys are going to see some things that you might not agree with, like monster erasure, and I want you to know that being irritated about that is okay, all right? Please speak up whenever that happens, and please think critically about what you read.” 

You glance anxiously at Toriel, who gives you a thumbs up. “Now, this is World History—we’ll be doing US History next year—so we’re going to start with prehistory, which basically means that people weren’t writing yet…”

By the time you finish up the class, you’re a bit sweaty, but overall you’re pleased with your performance. Everybody leaves the classroom, and you turn to Toriel with a hopeful smile. 

“I think you’ll fit in just fine here,” she says quietly, and pats you on the back. 

You hope she’s right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you like my lil History Discourse there lol
> 
> flowey would be a fun student


	3. In Which You Don't Have Fun, But Sans Does

You’re about a month into the semester when Toriel announces to everyone at the weekly faculty meeting that the school is going on a field trip to the old monster castle underneath Mt. Ebott. Even better, the King himself will be there to perform a tour. You’re beyond yourself with excitement. The Underground has been kept fairly off-limits to outsiders due to some bureaucratic mess, but you’re going to get to see it!

You’re excited, that is, until Toriel announces, “I’ve grouped the chaperones into groups of two each so that you can better keep track of the children under your care.” She goes through the list, and near the end, she checks her notebook and says, “_______, you’re with Sans.”

Your smile immediately drops. Crap. Not him.

You look over his direction, and he raises a hand in a lazy wave. Crap. Yes him.

Whatever. You’re an adult and this isn’t kindergarten. You can work together with people you don’t like. You steel yourself after the meeting is done and jog over to him, falling into stride as he glances up at you.

“hey.”

“Hey. I was just wondering, I was thinking of creating some kind of worksheet for the kids in our group—“

“that sounds like kind of a pain,” he observes lightly.

You clench your teeth and continue with as much politeness as you can muster, “I wasn’t asking for your help, just your permission. I can put some science topics on there as well? I’d have to do more research, but—“

“i thought you weren’t good at science.”

Your forced smile may turn a bit murderous at that. “Yes, well, that’s beside the point. Do I have your permission or not?”

“well, sure. if you want to go to all that trouble, feel free,” he says indifferently.

“I do.”

“then knock yourself out.”

“I will,” you snap back, before kicking yourself mentally. That sounded ridiculous. You are ridiculous.

It surprises a chuckle out of him, though, and you look down at him defensively, crossing your arms. “What?”

“oh, nothing. have fun with your worksheet.” He turns into his classroom, and you stand outside it for a moment staring, before turning on your heel with a huff.

He’d never say it, but you’re kind of cute when you’re mad. 

\--------------

The day of the field trip comes, and you’re assigned Class Three, the fourth through sixth graders. Unfortunately, you realize with a sinking heart, they’re also the ones that are convinced you’re in love with Sans.

This should be fun.

And, you try to convince yourself, it really should be, sarcasm aside. You’re getting to go to a castle, a secret off-limits monster castle! You should be ecstatic! But…you look at Sans and sigh deeply. This guy makes it difficult to feel enthusiastic about anything.

One of the kids from the class notices your sigh and obviously misinterprets it, winking exaggeratedly. You grimace and hope it looks vaguely like a smile.

On the rented bus, you and Sans are forced to sit together at the front. Another child gives you a thumbs up, and you’re definitely sure it doesn’t look like a smile this time. 

“So…” You’re bad with silences. “Sans.”

“that’s my name.”

You fake a laugh. “That it is! What do you…like to do, Sans?”

He looks at you evenly. “you don’t have to force yourself, you know.”

“What do you mean?” 

He leans over and whispers into your ear, “i know you don’t like me. you don’t have to pretend like you do. i don’t mind.”

You flush angrily. What does he mean, he doesn’t mind?! You’re about to say something back when a squeal arises from several of the girls on the bus.

“Mr. Sans! What did you say to them to make them blush like that?” asks one of them excitedly.

“i told them about my undying love for them,” he says dryly, and your jaw drops in horror. You slap him lightly on the arm.

“Sans!”

The entire bus erupts into murmurs, and you bury your head in your hands again.

This is not fun. This is not fun at all. 

After what seems like an eternity, the bus arrives at the entrance to the mountain. Everybody gets off in a rush, eager to stretch after the long ride. You corral them into a single area after they’ve had the chance to work all the kinks out and pass out the worksheets, eliciting groans.

“Come on,” one of them whines, “none of the other groups have to do them.”

“I promise they’re not hard,” you defend yourself. “Just some basic information. It’ll help you get more out of the experience!”

They roll their eyes—too close to being teenagers, these ones—but concede and take out their pencils.

Sans soundlessly makes his way up next to you and murmurs, “told you it would be a pain.”

“You’re a pain,” you mutter back bitterly. If he knows, you’re not going to bother hiding it anymore. Plus, he embarrassed you in front of the kids, and you’re not just about to forgive him for that right away. “It’s good for them.”

“let me guess, it builds character?”

“It builds intellect! Which is kind of our job, you know.”

He shrugs, then moves ahead and announces, “i’ll give you all candy if you finish.”

The subsequent cheers only put you in a worse mood. It’s like he’s playing bad cop good cop, and cast you as the bad cop. What gives him the right? He’s making you look like a bad teacher, which is really hypocritical considering he’s a bad teacher himself. Or…well, you’ve never seen him teach, but you’re assuming. People who hate kids aren’t good teachers. And…you frown contemplatively, watching him interact easily with Kid in the mass of children ahead. He does hate kids, doesn’t he? He said so himself, but…you’d hardly guess it, looking at him. He’s smiling in a way that he’s never smiled at you, gentle and happy.

You start to wonder if you may have made a mistake.

But no. He said it, and he’s obnoxious and rude and doesn’t consider other’s feelings and you’re definitely still pissed at him, smile or no smile. Right. You nod firmly. You feel much better now that you’ve sorted that out. 

Sans watches the complex display of emotions filter across your face and grins privately to himself. It's fun messing with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sans you lil stinker


	4. In Which Sans Has An Anxiety Attack And You Are Only A Partial Jerk

About ten minutes later, a small, battered car comes puttering up and parks next to the buses. To your surprise, a rather tall monster extricates himself from it, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khakis.

Toriel walks up to him and crosses her arms, frowning. “You’re late.”

“My apologies. I lost track of time,” he rumbles. “You know how it is—“

“No, I don’t,” Toriel says coolly. 

“Ah.” He smiles sheepishly. “Well.” He dithers for a moment, before turning to the assembled children and booming, “Hello! My name is Asgore.”

Wait. Asgore, as in…

“The King. He will be our tour guide today,” supplies Toriel. 

This is the King? 

“close your mouth, you’ll catch flies,” whispers Sans amusedly, having appeared next to you.

You snap your mouth shut and glare at him.

Asgore apparently catches the exchange, because he laughs and crosses over to you. “I haven’t met you before. What’s your name?”

“________,” you answer, not sure whether to feel starstruck or disappointed. “I teach human history.”

“Asgore, but I suppose I already said that.” He beams happily at you. “A pleasure.”

“Likewise,” you say politely, and he moves on to the other new faculty members before going back to Toriel’s side.

“Where’s Frisk?” he asks curiously when he reaches her. “I was rather looking forward to—“

“They are staying home today,” Toriel cuts him off acerbically. “Last time they came here they experienced some traumatic things.” She smiles tightly, a dark gleam in her eyes. “I wonder who might be to blame for that?”

Asgore winces. “Tori, I—“

“Do not call me that,” she barks, before collecting herself. “Please, let us get on with the tour.” Then, she turns sharply and moves towards the entrance to the Underground. 

Asgore looks absolutely crushed, but after a minute or so, he nods and looks back to the assembled group of children. “Well! As Miss Toriel said, let’s get on with things. I have a lot to show you today!”

You herd the children through the entrance, which leads to a long, downward-sloping tunnel. You stop when you reach the throne room. It’s covered in hundreds of golden flowers.

Sans, who is taking up the rear, catches up with you.

“It’s beautiful,” you say wonderingly. 

“you get used to it,” he says, and the tone of his voice makes you look at him searchingly. He sees you watching him and gives a fake grin. 

You frown, still trying to parse what he said. Maybe he was just being his normal buzzkill-y self, but he sounded so resigned. Shrugging, you decide that it’s a topic for another time and move to the front of the group again.

The kids are as awed by the flowers as you are—well, the humans who haven’t seen the throne room before are. You stop a few of them from picking them as a ‘souvenir’ and move onward. 

Asgore—the king, you remind yourself—displays all of the important rooms with pride, while talking about the kingdom’s history. At one point a kid runs ahead to open a door at the end of a stairwell, and Asgore’s face twists in horror as he thunders ahead and blocks the door.

“That’s unsafe,” he says breathlessly. “Please don’t go in there. It’s…” He clears his throat. “Please.”

The kid backs away, on the verge of tears, and Toriel immediately rushes to comfort them.

Apart from that, everything is really interesting, and you soon lose yourself in the explanations the king gives. You’ve always loved learning new things. That’s part of the reason you wanted to be a teacher—to pass on that love to new generations. 

Sans watches you smile as you listen, open and bright, and finds himself wishing you would look at him like that. Just once. He had said he didn’t mind you not liking him, and—well. It wouldn’t be the first time somebody had disliked him offhand, and it wouldn’t be the last. He doesn’t understand why, but he can deal with it. But it would be nice, is all he’s saying, if you didn’t start scowling every time you looked his way. 

He’s lost in thought, so he doesn’t notice the direction the tour is heading. By the time he realizes, they’re already there. Marble tiles, stone columns, artificial light streaming through stained glass windows, and—maybe he’s just imagining it, surely he’s just imagining it, but he can almost see the figure of a small child with a manic smile and a sharp knife—

“—ans. Sans!”

He comes to to the sight of your face, looking concerned down at him. “Are you all right? You look awful.”

He probably does. He’s frozen in place, shuddering and sweating, and the walls are closing in and oh, God, he needs to call Papyrus, he needs to check that he’s safe—

Distantly, he hears you calling out, “Toriel? Can you take over our group for a second? Sans doesn’t look so good.”

She acquiesces worriedly—probably, he thinks dizzily, she’d come over herself, but the kids, crap, they’re all watching, aren’t they—and he feels himself being led away, out of the room and back to the gray corridor prior.

It isn’t until they’re a good distance away from the room that he manages to control his breathing (inoutinoutin out in out in out in out,) and regain some semblance of coherent thought.

The first thing he does is apologize. “sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” you say, and your voice is surprisingly gentle. “Happens to the best of us.”

“what, to you?”

“Yeah, sometimes.” You sit down next to him on the stairs and don’t elaborate. He doesn’t ask.

A thought comes to him, and he glances at you. “why did you help me?”

“Huh?”

“i mean…you don’t like me. why did you help?”

The scowl is back, and he winces reflexively. “Sans, just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean I’m a complete jerk! You needed help, I noticed, so I helped. It’s as simple as that. Jeez.”

“well…thanks.”

“Yeah,” you say, and for a moment a hint of that beautiful smile graces your face. Just for a moment, almost like he imagined it. But he’s pretty sure he didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sans definitely has ptsd in this story, along with some other Issues that should become clear as the story progresses


	5. In Which Sans May Or May Not Care

You two sit in silence, until, “so…not that i care, but why don’t you like me, anyway?”

“Why do you teach if you don’t like kids?” you shoot back after a pause.

“like i said, Toriel’s fault.”

“That tells me nothing.”

He shrugs. “she asked me to help out with her school, so i said yes. simple as that.”

“I’m not sure whether that counts as being a good friend or just being irresponsible.”

“can’t it be both?”

He’s joking, but you seem to give the question serious consideration, before a grudging, “I guess.”

“what, is it that hard to believe i could be a good friend?”

“Yes,” you say bluntly, making him wince again. 

“ouch.”

You sigh and scratch the back of your head. “I’m sorry! Well, sort of! Just…it’s a lot easier to believe you’re an all-around jerk with no redeeming qualities. It makes it easier to dislike you.”

You’re very honest. He doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he says, “you never answered my question.”

You stare at the wall for a moment, then respond, “I had this teacher when I was a sophomore in high school. US History.”

“um, okay?”

“Every class period, she would give us some work to keep us occupied and then go over to her computer. She didn’t answer questions, she didn’t lecture, just stayed on her computer. I was raised believing teachers were supposed to be your friends, or—maybe not your friends, but mentors, maybe. Somebody to look up to. I didn’t look up to her. She was distant, and rude, and—“ Your face scrunches up cutely—“Kind of racist, really. I had this ideal image of teaching, and she ruined it. I hated her a little bit for it. Because…it wasn’t even that she disliked kids, as far as I could tell. She just didn’t care. She didn’t care whether we succeeded or failed, or whether we were having a bad day, or anything. It was a job and nothing more.”

Oh. He can kind of see how this relates now.

“I promised myself I would never be like that,” you say, and you’re looking into his eyes intensely and he sort of wants to shrink back. “I promised myself that I would try and maybe I would fail, but I would always care. And I think that’s what a good teacher does.”

He opens his mouth, but he isn’t able to say anything.

“And then there’s you,” you continue, seemingly thinking out loud. “I’ve watched your classes before, you know? From outside. The kids love you. They put so much of themselves into these classes, into making you happy, into doing their best work and learning and being the best they can be. Sure, sometimes they’re unruly or they talk out of turn, but they try their hardest. I don’t understand how you can see all that and still just—not care.”

He croaks out, “it’s…just…i mean…” Then he’s lost for words again.

“I don’t mind if you don’t like kids. But don’t inflict that on them. They don’t deserve it. They deserve someone who cares.”

He doesn’t know what to say, because you’re right. They do deserve that. But he’s not sure he can give that to them. He’s not sure he’s able to care so intensely about something, to give himself to it completely, not like you apparently can. He’s pretty sure he lost that ability a long time ago, back thousands of timelines ago, timelines where he kept losing everything that he cared about over and over again until it was just so much easier to let go...

He feels a soft exhale of air on his cheek, and when he looks up, you’re frowning again. “Sorry. I…sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that. It’s not my place.”

“no, you’re…you’re right.” He tries to smile, but he doesn’t think he succeeds.

You start to say something, but you’re interrupted by the sound of a crowd approaching. It appears the children are coming back, with Toriel and Asgore at the head.

Toriel walks up to Sans and asks quietly, “Are you doing all right now?”

“yeah. yeah, i’m fine.” His grin still looks fake, but it’s apparently good enough to fool Toriel, who gives him a searching glance, then nods.

“Good. We are heading back up to the surface for lunch. Would you care to join us?”

“are you kidding me? i’m always up for food,” he says with a cheerfulness he doesn’t feel. “i need to talk to some kids about some candy, too.”

The kids in your group cheer again, to the protest of the kids in other groups.

Kid lingers behind a little longer and asks, “Mr. Sans, are you really all right?”

“i’m going tibia fine,” he says, and chuckles when Kid groans. 

“You use that one all the time.”

“that’s because it’s always good.”

He walks away, chatting with Kid and some other kids from Class 3, but he can again feel your gaze on him before you catch up and start talking with Toriel and Asgore excitedly—something about monster architecture. 

Resolutely, he keeps his own eyes from wandering to you, because you’ve given him a lot to think about—but he’s not sure he wants to think about it at all.

\-------------

It’s really good to see the sun again, to remember it exists and he’s not still trapped down there, Sans thinks. It’s also nice to be surrounded by the chatter of children and Toriel’s laughter and the chirping of birds and everything is just pretty great.

Or it would be, if the kids of Class 3 hadn’t conspired to make Sans and you sit together and you weren’t radiating intense discomfort. It’s making it hard to enjoy his sandwich, a PB&J lovingly packed by Papyrus.

The kids are giggling together as a blush rises high on your cheeks. You really wish you blushed less easily; this isn’t helping the misconceptions about you and Sans’ relationship, you’re sure.

“So what did you and Sans do while you were alone together?” one of the kids asks coyly.

“well, they told me they returned my deep, romantic feelings,” says Sans in a monotone, draping one of his bony arms around your shoulder. You yelp and try to shake him off, to no avail. “then we did a lot of kissing.”

The squeals are even louder than they were in the bus. You groan. “Sans!”

“what, cuddle muffin?”

“Stop lying to the children!” 

“fine, all right. we only did a little bit of kissing.”

“Are you going to get married?” asks a child with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Are you going to have a baby?” asks another.

“maybe,” answers Sans smoothly. “we have to do a lot more kissing before we know for sure.”

“Guys, I don’t actually like him!” you say helplessly.

“No, you looooooove him!” pipes up a youngster from the back. The assembled children dissolve back into giggles. You, personally, resolve to find a nice hard rock to bash your head against.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually wrote this yesterday but i wanted to wait a bit to put it up so here it is


	6. In Which Sans Makes A Decision

At some point during lunch, Asgore comes near your group with a wounded look and sits a little way away from everyone.

You frown and rise up, brushing yourself off, and go over to him. “Hey.”

“Oh—hello. ______, was it?” His voice is heavy, his eyes downcast.

“Yeah. Do you…” You gesture hesitantly. “Do you want to sit with all of us?”

His eyes brighten, then fall again. “Oh. Well…I’m not sure Toriel would…”

“Come on,” you coax. “I’m sure it’s fine. If it’s not I’ll take the blame.” You grin at him impishly. “It’s me inviting you, after all.”

“Well…” He smiles shyly. “Sure. Thank you.”

You lead him over to the group and sit him at the head of the picnic blanket, so to speak, which conveniently happens to be between you and Sans. “Hey everybody! Mr. Asgore is going to sit with us all, so please be on your best behavior.”

“Does this mean I can’t make a face out of my tortilla?” asks a kid sadly.

Asgore laughs. “Please, feel free to make a face out of your tortilla. I’ve done the same myself, actually.”

You giggle, surprised. “I wish there were pictures of that.”

Secretly, he leans over and whispers conspiratorially, “There are. Want to see?”

Your eyes widen. “Really? Please.”

He slides a phone out of the pockets of his khakis and starts scrolling, then presents the phone to you proudly. On it is a picture of his face, covered by a tortilla, with holes bitten out for his snout and eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” you say sincerely. 

“It was my Headspace profile picture for a while,” he confides. 

“An excellent choice.” You nod seriously, then beckon over the kid who asked about the tortilla in the first place. “Hey, Marco, come see this.”

He checks the picture, then looks accusingly at Asgore. “Are you sure you’re really a king?”

“I’m sure I was once. Not anymore, though!”

“What is it you do now, then?” you ask curiously.

He scratches his head embarrassedly. “Oh…well, I’m sort of between things at the moment, but…”

You gape. “Really? Why?”

He looks down, ashamed. “I’m afraid most people don’t really agree with having someone like me on staff.”

“Someone like you?”

He coughs delicately. “Someone who used such, ah…controversial methods during their reign.” He shrugs awkwardly. “I can’t really blame them.” 

Slowly, you say, “You mean…”

“I’d rather not talk about it.” He smiles painfully.

“How long?”

“It doesn’t—“

“How. Long?”

He looks away, and mumbles, “Since we got to the surface.”

Before you realize it, you’re standing, hands on your hips. “That’s just not right.”

“What? It’s fine—“

“No, it’s not!” You scowl and stomp away over to where Toriel is eating with Class 1. Asgore watches bemusedly.

You tap Toriel on the shoulder and point to a secluded area a few feet away. Confused, she follows.

“_______? What is this about?”

“Did you know Asgore’s been blacklisted from the workforce?”

“Well…yes, but…”

“You knew and you didn’t do anything? There are openings at our school! I know we need a gardener, for instance. You’ve been talking about it the past few faculty meetings.”

Toriel looks very uncomfortable. “I don’t really…”

You sigh. “Look, I don’t know what is going on between you two. I can tell you have something against him, but…he was nice enough to come here to give this tour today. For free, right? I haven’t talked to him much, but I think he’s a decent guy. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like this by everybody.”

“Do you even know what he did?” Toriel bursts out. “Those children—“

“Yes, I know!” you hiss. “It was awful. But have you talked to him about it since then? It’s obvious he feels horrible about it. Shouldn’t that count for something?” 

She’s silent, but her brows are drawn together—in anger or thought, you can’t tell.

“Look, I believe everybody deserves a second chance. I know it’s not my place, I know I’m new, but…could you maybe at least just interview him for the position? From how much he talked about plants today, I’m pretty sure he’s qualified.”

“I’ll think about it,” she says dully. “But no guarantees.”

You smile, relieved. “Thank you! Thank you so much.” You turn around and give a big grin and a thumbs up to Asgore.

Asgore looks at you with round eyes, then asks Sans, “Did they just—“

“looks like it.”

“I—“ He clears his throat, overcome with emotion. “Are they always like that?”

Sans remembers earlier today, remembers you taking him away from that room. He had sort of thought he was…special, maybe? That maybe you liked him more than you had been letting on. But…he swallows. 

“You needed help, they noticed, so they helped.” He’s tired of these fake grins. He’s just tired. “Simple as that.”

You skip back to the group with a blinding smile on your face and say, “Asgore! I got her to agree to give you an interview! The school needs a gardener, and—“

You’re not expecting him to gather you up in a big bear hug, nor the tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. “Thank you. I don’t even have words—“

You beam and pat him on the back. “No words necessary. Don’t screw it up, okay?”

“I won’t,” he says thickly. “Thank you.”

The rest of lunch is uneventful, and then everybody packs back up in the buses, waving goodbye to Asgore with a chorus of ‘thank you’s. You’re stuck at the front of the bus with Sans again, but somehow you don’t mind as much. You chatter mindlessly, not even appearing to care that he only responds with unenthusiastic grunts.

The bus returns to the school, the kids are picked up by their parents, and the school day is officially over. He passes by you on the way to Toriel’s office. You’ve collected the worksheets and are grading them patiently in your room. He sees your soft smile as you chuckle at some of the responses and feels an ache deep in his SOUL. No, your smiles are not for him, and he is doing the right thing.

Knocking on the door to Toriel’s office, he waits for a response before entering.

“Sans? This is a surprise. What did you need?”

He sits down in one of the chairs and scuffs his foot against the floor. “um…i don’t really know how to do this, i don’t have a letter or anything, but—“

“A letter? Sans, what—“

He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and ekes out, “i’d like to resign.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun duuuuunnnnnn


	7. In Which You Give Several Wrong Answers And One Right One

“Resign?” Toriel asks in a small voice. “You…Sans?”

“you heard me. two weeks’ notice should be fine, right?”

Toriel looks lost. “Why?”

Sans thinks about what you said. The kids need someone who care. They don’t need him. But he doesn’t say that. He just says, “personal reasons.”

“I…well, I cannot stop you from going, but…I would really like it if you stayed.”

He ignores the pang in his SOUL and smiles. “i was never meant to be a teacher in the first place, Tori. it’s for the best. for the kids, you know?”

“But you’re great with the kids,” she protests. “You’re…I thought you…”

“yeah, well, i thought so too, but.” He shrugs. “guess neither of us were right.”

He turns to leave the room, but stops when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He slowly turns back.

Toriel is crying.

“Sans, I can’t do this alone. I can’t…not with the possibility of Asgore coming back, and with all the new teachers, and…I need you. I need you here.”

It takes everything he has to shrug her hand off. She looks stricken. “you’re stronger than you think, Tori. anyway, you should probably start looking for someone new.”

And then he walks out the door.

He gets home to Papyrus, and before he even knows it, he’s crying too. Papyrus is perplexed, but sits him down on the couch and pats him awkwardly on the back. He offers to make him tea, offers to read him a bedtime story, but even the sweetness of his younger brother can’t help what’s ailing him, because he’s starting to realize he may have cared more than he let on in the first place—to anyone, but especially to himself.

A week later, Toriel quietly announces to the faculty at their daily morning meeting that Sans will be leaving and that she’s already started looking for a new science teacher.

Your head whips around to see Sans, looking very small and very tired.

“Sans!” you call out to him as soon as the meeting is done. “Hey, Sans! Wait up!”

He keeps walking.

You jog in front of him and stand with your arms and legs outspread, blocking the path. “Sans,” you say. “Don’t leave.”

He draws back. “what?”

“You’re leaving because of what I said, right?”

He looks away. “no…”

“I bet you are,” you say decisively, then hang your head, hand tentatively reaching out to his shoulder. “Don’t go.”

“why?” he demands, suddenly angry. “you basically told me to leave. why now?”

“Because…” You pause, looking confused. “Because I don’t want it to be my fault.”

His face turns dark, and he shoulders you bodily out of the way, calling back, “wrong answer.”

He tells everybody in his classes later that day. The responses vary from a stony silence to anguished cries of, “No!” He packs himself away, far away from his feelings, and smiles through it all.

You watch as Toriel asks her classes to make cards for him, sounding resigned and dull. You watch as the kids pour their hearts into making the cards, resplendent in neon hearts and damp with tears. You watch as Toriel tells them he’ll always be with them, that he’ll only be a phone call away.

You start to realize that you’ve made a terrible mistake.

You catch up to Sans again later that day, feeling a little teary yourself, and yell out, “I’ll resign!”

He turns around slowly, expression indiscernible. 

“You’ll never have to see me again, I promise. Not a word.” You bite your lip, then say, “You’re…you’re a better teacher than I ever will be, okay? I was wrong. I was wrong and you were right and I was jealous and I’ll resign, I swear, please just stay.”

The silence stretches between you. Finally, he says, “wrong answer.”

Your eyes widen, and you hurriedly run in front of him again. “Wait, wait! What’s the right answer? How do I get you to change your mind?”

“you don’t get to make me do anything,” he snaps, irritated. “i make my own decisions, and i decided to leave because it’s the right thing to do.”

“But it’s not! Sans, surely—“

For the second time that day, he steps around you and leaves you watching him walk down the long road away from the school. 

You stay up late that night, unable to get to sleep. Not only have you apparently ruined somebody’s livelihood, you did it in probably the douchiest way possible. You’re a new teacher yourself. What makes you think you know anything about what a ‘real’ teacher should look like? What gave you the right? Your self-righteousness and bravado comes crashing down around you and leaves you with the cold hard reality.

You are actually a complete jerk.

But, you decide eventually, it’s not going to do anyone any good to sit around beating yourself up about it, either. You’re going to apologize and you’re going to make Sans understand that he has to stay, and you’re going to do it in the most underhanded way you can think of, and you think it’s going to work.

The next day you put your plan into action. It isn’t completed until the end of the week, the second to last day before Sans is supposed to be gone forever. You look over the sheet of paper and nod. You have everything you need. Everything depends on you now.

(You try to pretend like that’s not one of the most pretentious things you’ve ever said, and continue.)

You wait until you have a free period, then march into Sans’ class, which happens to be Class 2. You’ve worked everything out beforehand with them, so they know you’re coming. 

“wha—________? what are you doing—“

“I’m here to ask you to stay,” you say firmly. “Not to tell you to, or to demand that you do, but to ask.”

“i’m sort of in the middle of something,” he says bemusedly. “can’t this wait?”

“Let them talk!” yells one of the kids, until they’re all clamoring for him to listen to you, please.

He raises his hands. “fine, fine. um…go.”

“I said something really hurtful to you,” you say, eyes fixed firmly on your feet. “I was presumptuous, and I was out of line, and I judged you without even giving you a chance to prove yourself. I was wrong.”

You hold up a hand when he starts to protest. He frowns, but runs a hand over his head and nods for you to continue.

“I told you…” you hesitate, looking at the kids, but charge forward anyway. “I told you you didn’t care. Who am I to judge whether you care or not? Only you can, and I think even if you say you don’t, you do. So I’m sorry. I was a total jerk and you didn’t deserve it. But that’s not why you should stay.”

You present your paper to him, and he looks over it, expression carefully placid.

“I wrote up a petition of sorts,” you say, embarrassed. “Everybody in the school signed it. Even Flowey, see? You don’t have to stay for me. In fact, don’t. I suck. But please, stay for them. And…it’s your choice. But I think you’ll make the right one, because…” You shift your weight onto your other foot, then look directly into Sans’ eyes. “You’re a good person. Maybe I’m not the best judge of that, but I think you are. So…please.”

He evaluates your expression, searching your eyes. You look honest, if a little scared. 

He thinks over his options. He’s already said he would leave, right? He can’t just up and change his mind, but…he does sort of want to stay. He wants to explore this new capacity for caring that he’s found. He wants to make Papyrus proud of him. He wants to talk to the kids every day. He wants to see you smile at him, just once. 

Finally, he says, “good answer.”

A hopeful smile blossoms across your face. “Really?”

“i’ll talk to Toriel. she gets final say, though—“

The class erupts into cheers. You beam and duck your head, then impulsively gather Sans up into a light hug. “Thank you,” you murmur. He feels it against his collarbone and shivers.

“yeah, yeah. lemme down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *writes angst*
> 
> *immediately retracts angst in next chapter bc im a wimp*
> 
> btw i havent said it yet this story, so thank you so much everybody for reading, giving kudos, and commenting! it makes me so happy every time i see that and im so grateful for it!


	8. In Which Sans Doesn't Really Like Asgore

Toriel, of course, happily accepts him back, admitting that she had been too down about the entire situation to look for someone new anyway. The kids give him their cards as a warning and tell him sharply to never do that again. He chuckles and acquiesces. Everything goes back to normal.

Except for two weeks later, Asgore comes walking into the faculty meeting, looking like he’s floating on air.

You gasp in delight and rush over to him. “Asgore! Did you get the job?”

“I did,” he says, beaming. 

Toriel materializes behind you and says, with a slightly defeated tone to her voice, “He was the most qualified for the job, and we didn’t have many applicants anyway.”

You turn around to her and say sincerely, “Thank you. I don’t think you’ll regret it.”

“I already am,” she mutters below her breath, and Asgore’s smile falters slightly. 

He sits down next to you, and Toriel stands at the front of the room. “All right, everybody, today I’d like to introduce our new gardener, Asgore Dreemurr. He’ll be both maintaining our current garden and proposing new plots. He may also jump in to teach a class or two on plant husbandry every once in a while.” She leaves out the customary admonition to treat him with respect and sits down.

You attempt to process what she just said.

Dreemurr. Toriel…her last name was Dreemurr too, wasn’t it?

You look between them speculatively, and without realizing it, think out loud, “Siblings?”

Asgore chokes and hisses, “I beg your pardon?”

“You and Toriel. Are you related?” you whisper, conscious of Toriel still speaking in the front.

“No!”

“Then…” You tap your fingers on the table, mind going into overdrive.

Sans interjects, sitting at the table next to you. “they were married once.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait, really? Then…that means…” 

At the same time as Sans says dryly, “that you’re kind of a jerk for suggesting he work here?”, you point accusingly at Toriel and yell, “Queen!”

Toriel raises an eyebrow slowly. “What did you say?”

Embarrassed, you lower your finger and say, “You’re a queen. You never said anything.”

Toriel sighs and massages her temple. “I was a queen. That’s different. I didn’t think it necessary to say anything. Now, may I continue?”

You shrink back into yourself and mumble, “By all means.”

“dork,” Sans whispers, just loud enough for you to hear. You scowl and flick him on the shoulder. 

“It explains a lot, though,” you say thoughtfully after the meeting is over, walking with Sans to his room. You two aren’t quite friends, still somewhat laden down by the awkwardness of the first couple of months, but you’ve taken to conversation, at least. He’s still sort of obnoxious, but he’s interesting.

“how so?”

“She has kind of a royal air about her,” you say, nodding. “Don’t you think?”

Sans shrugs. “i knew her before i knew she was queen, so i guess that i never really put much thought into it.”

“Really? How did you meet?”

He smiles softly in recollection. “i was talking to myself in front of the door to the ruins one day, and somebody responded. we started trading jokes and conversation. we didn’t meet properly until a while later, when Frisk saved the Underground. things sort of went from there.”

“You seem to really like her,” you comment lightly.

“well, yeah. we’re friends.”

“Ever want to be more than friends?” you ask, wiggling your eyebrows exaggeratedly. 

He snorts. “we tried that once. didn’t work out.”

“Wait, seriously? I was joking.”

“i wasn’t, so yeah, seriously. it didn’t last long. we work a lot better as friends.”

Rubbing your chin, you muse, “I wonder what that would make you if it had worked out. Prince by association?”

Rolling his eyes, he says amusedly, “it wouldn’t have ‘made’ me anything. i’d still just be Sans the skeleton. except a skeleton who was getting some tailbone.”

You giggle quietly, scandalized. “Sans!”

“what?” he asks, smirking. “it’s true.”

“We’re at a school, though. It’s inappropriate.”

“you’re such a wet blanket.”

“Excuse you! I’m an extremely fun and very dry blanket!” you protest.

“yeah, yeah, sure,” he waves off. Still grinning, he contemplates these past two weeks. It turns out when you’ve decided that you like someone, you’re actually a pretty cool person. Sure, he’s still a little offended by the quick judgment, especially now that he realizes how wrong you were, but he thinks he can get over it. Maybe you two could actually be friends. He wants to get to know you better and see where things go. Lunch seems like a good start. “hey, _______, would you maybe like to—“

Just then, Asgore comes up from behind you. “_______, hello.”

“Hello!” you say, obviously brightening. 

“Am I interrupting?” he inquires politely. 

“yes,” Sans mutters. 

Asgore’s smile freezes, and you flick Sans again. “Hey! That’s impolite.”

“I can ask later, don’t worry—“

“No, if you have something to ask, ask now! Sans is just being a butt.”

His eyes flick to Sans, but he continues hesitantly. “I just wanted to ask if you’d do me the honor of eating lunch with me today? I wanted to get to know you better.”

“Oh, sure!” You grin. “Sans, want to join?”

“no thanks,” he says, face shut down. 

“Oh,” you say, shifting uncomfortably. “Well…just us, then, Asgore! See you then. I need to get to class.” With that, you wave and jog off.

Asgore and Sans stand silently for a moment, before Asgore asks worriedly, “Did I do something to offend you? If possible, I’d like to be—well, perhaps not friends, but—“

“i’m on Toriel’s side,” Sans says coldly. “so no, i don’t think we can be friends.”

“Well…but…”

“but nothing, bucko. you hurt Tori, and you hurt Frisk. i can’t forgive that.” 

He watches as Asgore’s face falls. Maybe he should feel bad. Maybe he should give him one of those second chances you’re so fond of.

But he’s not going to do that.

He turns on his heel and walks to the science room, and he prepares for a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> could this be the start of a beautiful harem manga...


	9. In Which Sans Contemplates The Merit Of Candles

Lunch that day is slightly awkward. Sans sits as far away from you and Asgore as possible, at the very edge of the cafeteria with Toriel. You periodically glance at Sans, and once you make eye contact. He looks away immediately, somehow managing to make it look casual, and you stiffen like you’ve been shocked.

Frowning, you mumble, “I thought we were becoming friends.”

It was a remark intended only for yourself, but Asgore overhears. He smiles tightly. “I’m afraid it’s accurate in this case to say that it’s not you, it’s me.”

You snort. “Breaking up with me already, Asgore? I thought we had something.”

He chuckles. “That’s not really what I meant. Sans doesn’t like me. I’m sure his opinion of you remains largely unchanged.”

“Why doesn’t he like you?” you inquire, then mentally hit yourself. “Sorry, that was a really nosy question. I’ve been trying to work on that, but obviously I’m not doing so well.”

He waves it off. “No, it’s fine. As far as I know, it’s partially because of Toriel and partially because of Frisk.”

“I guess I get the Toriel part, messy breakup and all, but what did you do to Frisk?”

“Technically nothing,” he says heavily, “but I was going to do something unforgivable. If Toriel hadn’t stopped me, I was going to fight them to the death. I didn’t want to, but…I thought it was the only way.”

You’re silent for a moment, thinking, and he hurriedly adds, “That isn’t to excuse my actions in any way. I’m aware that what I did was inexcusable.”

You place a light hand on his wrist. “Asgore, it’s fine. I mean, it’s not, but you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I want this job to be a new start for you, yeah?”

He stares at you quietly, then says wonderingly, “You’re a far better person than I.”

You bark out a bitter laugh. “I’m really not, though. I nearly did something awful.” You peek at Sans again, then look down at your hands miserably. “I act like I know everything all the time, I act like this untouchable moral paragon, but I’m really not. I hate that about myself.”

“Well…then maybe today can be a new start for both of us.” He smiles at you gently and taps your hand comfortingly. “You deserve a second chance as much as I do. More, in my opinion, but then again I’m biased.”

You smile hopefully up at him. “That’d be nice.”

He smiles back, then says sheepishly, “My apologies. Redemption is a rather heavy topic for a first lunch.”

“Hey, we’re getting it out of the way early.” You grin. “Want to talk about family issues next?”

He laughs, a big, booming sound. “Perhaps we can save that for tomorrow.”

Your responding laugh is quieter, but beautiful, Sans thinks. Asgore doesn’t deserve to hear it. Then he shakes his head, frowning. He doesn’t know why he has this urge to keep your smiles and laughter to himself. You two aren’t even friends, he reminds himself firmly. He doesn’t have the right to keep any part of you.

But still, as he spots Asgore’s hand still resting on top of yours, he can’t keep himself from feeling his SOUL pulsate in jealousy.

\-------------

You start to make a habit of having lunch with Asgore, and Sans starts to make a habit of staying far away. You two still talk in the morning, and you always invite him to eat with you and Asgore, and he always declines.

Eventually you stop asking.

It’s nearly winter break now, and Toriel announces a gift exchange between the members of the staff and subsequent faculty party. She informs you that everyone will draw slips of paper from a fluffy hat.

You walk up to the hat with a minimal amount of trepidation. When you fish around in the hat, your hand happens upon a suspiciously crumpled slip. Curious, you pull it out. 

It is, of course, the slip prepared by Sans.

You grin happily. Despite Sans’ refusal to make amends with Asgore, your relationship has still been improving. If it weren’t for one thing, you’d say he’s one of your better friends on the staff, along with Asgore. Anyway, the point is, you’re pleased to have the opportunity to get a gift for him. You immediately start brainstorming.

Sans ambles up to the hat and picks out the first slip his hands encounter. It’s another newbie faculty member, an English teacher named Nolan. He doesn’t know him very well, but Sans supposes that’s how a gift exchange works. He’ll just get something generic.

He walks to you for your customary morning conversation, feeling the slight lift in his SOUL that he always does when he’s near you. He figures that’s what it’s like, being around a friend. “hey. who’d you get?”

You counter, “Who’d you get?”

“Nolan,” he answers, making a face. “how do you think he’d like candles?”

You giggle. “I guess about as much as anyone would like candles.”

“how much would anyone like candles?”

“Well gosh, Sans, how much would you like a candle?”

He stares at you, waiting for an answer.

You huff. “Unless they’re a candle enthusiast, probably not much.” You tap your index finger to your chin and add thoughtfully, “Or if they’re into BDSM.”

He gives you a look, then sighs. “i’m guessing that’s a no, then. crap. i’ll have to think of something else.”

You pat his shoulder. “I’ll ask around, do a little Headspace stalking. We’ll find something good.”

“okay, thanks.” A thought occurs to him. “wait, you never said who you got.”

Your face twists. “Um…nobody.”

He gives you an incredulous look. “i saw you pick.”

“I said nobody!” You smile in a very forced manner, then say in a rush, “I have to go. Bye!”

So it’s him. He laughs to himself. You’re the worst liar ever. Well, if you’re going to get a present for him, he should get one for you too. It’s only polite. 

Maybe he’ll get you a candle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes, the good ol gift exchange trope. whens the beach episode


	10. In Which You Cause A Misunderstanding

The days pass, and before you know it you’re saying ‘goodbye’s and ‘keep warm’s and ‘see you next year’s to all of the students. You get a few gifts, even, which makes you a bit sniffly—“It’s allergies, guys,” you say embarrassedly in response to the laughing, “I’ve got terrible, terrible allergies! Shut up”—and endears the children even further to you. You’ve got the best job in the world, you think happily to yourself.

Plus, since it’s the last day of the semester, you have the faculty party to look forward to. Toriel is hosting it at her house, so Frisk and Flowey will both be there, to your excitement. She even reluctantly invited Asgore, so he’ll be there too, and Sans, of course. You’re really happy about the prospect of being surrounded by some of your favorite people. 

You go home for the day to get ready for the party. You dress up in some nice clothes—it’s not like it’s a royal ball, or anything, but you want to look good—and take some extra time in front of the mirror. When you’re satisfied, you drive to Toriel’s house, which is at the base of Mt. Ebott proper. 

Upon arrival, you’re greeted by an enthusiastic Frisk, who is signing so fast you can barely keep up. You laugh. “Whoa, whoa! Hey, Frisk.”

They give you a hug and you melt. Frisk just has something about them that makes pretty much everybody fall in love with them, and you’re no exception.

“You’re letting in the cold air,” comes a grumpy voice, and you smile dryly. Flowey, on the other hand…

“Sorry, Flowey.” You move into the room and look around. “Where’s everybody?”

Toriel comes into the room and says, “You’re actually the first one here. Welcome, by the way!” 

“Sorry! I tend to be early.” You peer around her, into the kitchen, and ask, “Is there anything I can help with?”

“Oh, no, I think I’ve got everything under control. Thank you, though, dear.”

You nod in acknowledgement and put your gift on the designated table, then occupy yourself by talking to Frisk and Flowey until more people come.

Asgore comes in about ten more minutes, precisely on time. To your surprise, Frisk runs up and hugs him when they see him.

“Oh!” he says, apparently also surprised, and more than a little bit choked up. “Hello, Frisk.”

You smile privately and wait for Sans, letting Asgore and Frisk have their moment to catch up. He ends up coming about fifteen minutes later, which is pretty typical. You light up when the door opens and he arrives, another, taller skeleton behind him.

You run up to him, beaming. “Sans! Hey!”

“hey.”

You wait for him to introduce his guest, but instead, the guest introduces himself. “I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS! SANS IS MY BROTHER.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Papyrus. I’ve heard so much about you.”

He’s about to respond, when a small form barrels forward and attaches to his legs.

“HELLO, FRISK! YOU’VE GOTTEN MUCH TALLER.”

Frisk proudly signs that they’re precisely five feet now.

“THAT IS MANY FEET! CONGRATULATIONS!”

“yeah, good job, kid.”

Frisk pouts and signs that it doesn’t count, because he sees them all the time and he’s never said anything.

Sans shrugs. “it’s not like i carry around measuring tape, buddy.”

Frisk puts their hands on their hips, scowling. “You should still know!” they sign sharply.

Sans raises his hands in a placating manner. “fine, okay. sorry about that.”

Frisk nods, accepting the apology, and runs off to talk to Undyne, who’s just arrived with a yellow lizard monster in tow. You presume it’s her girlfriend Alphys. You don’t talk to Undyne all that much, but she talks about Alphys a ton. 

You turn back to Sans and grin. “So, did you take my advice regarding Nolan?”

It turns out Nolan is super into, interestingly enough, Pez dispensers. You had it on good authority from one of Nolan’s friends that he didn’t have this year’s novelty Pez set yet, so Sans bought him one.

“yep. you don’t have to be a pez-t about it.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling. “Your puns are awful, Sans.”

“THANK YOU! FINALLY, SOMEBODY WHO AGREES!”

“sorry to break it to you, Pap, but they actually love my puns.”

“NOOOOOO!”

You start slightly when a large, fuzzy hand lightly touches your shoulder. You whirl around and let out a breath. “Asgore! You scared me!”

“Sorry,” he says apologetically. “I wanted to talk with you about something.”

“Oh, sure.” You turn to Sans and say, “Sorry! Have fun without me, ‘kay?”

“all right.”

He can’t help but watch you, though, as you walk away with Asgore.

“So, what’s up?”

Asgore looks around nervously, before whispering, “I…got Toriel for the gift exchange.”

“Oh, cool! I bet you got something she’ll love.”

“That’s not the point!” he wails. “She hates me, _______. She’ll never accept a gift from me.”

You consider. “Is it lingerie?”

“What?! No!”

“Then I’m sure it’s fine,” you say comfortingly. “If you haven’t overstepped any boundaries, she has no reason to say no. You just give it to her politely, and she’ll take it and everything will be just swell.”

“You’re far too optimistic,” he grumbles. 

“And you’re a dirty pessimist,” you say with a raised eyebrow. “What is it, out of curiosity?”

He fidgets and mumbles, “I do a little painting on the side. I painted Frisk and Flowey. They were more than willing to sit for a portrait when I explained. Well, Frisk was. I don’t think Flowey is ever happy to do much of anything.”

“Aw, that’s so cute! I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“You really think so?”

“If she doesn’t, she’s a jerk,” you say soothingly. 

Just then, Asgore looks up and notices something. “Oh.”

“Oh what?”

Sans looks up, and his eyes widen in horror. “oh, crap.”

Frisk, from the other side of the house, grins calculatingly, rubbing their hands together. Earlier today, without their mom knowing, they attached mistletoe to the middle of the living room ceiling.

You look up as well and look back down at Asgore…and start laughing hysterically. 

“________?” Asgore asks confusedly.

“Sorry, pal. No.” You wipe your eyes, still cackling. “I don’t kiss my friends.”

“Oh, thank God,” Asgore says, sagging in relief. Unbeknownst to you, Sans realizes that he’s been clenching his fists and hurriedly unclenches them, and Frisk frowns. Darn it.

Toriel comes into the main room and announces, “It’s time for the gift exchange, everybody!”

Everybody starts chattering excitedly, and gather around the table. You stand next to Asgore and give him a thumbs up for good luck.

Nolan loves his Pez dispensers. Toriel got Undyne in the exchange, and gives her some workout tapes for class. Undyne got you and gave you…some candles. The scent is ‘Man Town’, and you smile bemusedly, but thank her regardless.

When it comes time for Asgore to give his gift to Toriel, he shyly passes her the flat wrapped bundle. Her face is carefully emotionless, but when she opens it, she starts tearing up. All she says is “Thank you,” but by the way she holds onto the painting for the rest of the party, it’s obvious she really likes it.

Finally, you get out your present for Sans and shove it at him. “Here, nerd.”

“rude,” he says automatically, pretending to be surprised. He opens up the package and finds a book of puns—nice—and what looks like a scarf and hat.

He looks at you, and you’re blushing slightly. “Um, I like to knit, and I noticed you never wear any even though it’s cold, and, um...”

“thanks,” he says softly. “i like them.”

You smile gently, and his SOUL pangs a little.

After that, you disappear somewhere with Asgore. He taps his feet on the ground, wondering where you could have gone. He needs to give you your present.

He eventually finds you in a back room. Asgore is passing you some little packets, explaining, “They’re golden flowers seeds. I noticed you really liked the ones in the old throne room, and…”

You hug him, and Sans’ SOUL pangs a little again. “Thank you so much! I’ll plant these right away. Or, well, when it gets a little warmer I will.”

“Wonderful.” He shifts around a little, then asks curiously, “Have you seen your friend Sans around anywhere? I wanted to—“

“He’s not my friend.”

Sans’ mind goes blank for a moment at the sudden and firm rejection. You’re…not his friend? What? He had thought…

But. He can’t change your mind. It’s your decision, not his.

He turns around, clutching the gift, and tiptoes away to find Papyrus. He thinks it’s probably time to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> duN DUN DUNNNNNNN
> 
> (take note of the chapter title, though)
> 
> (if any of you have seen kimi ni todoke, i'm taking some inspiration from there)
> 
> also, why Pez dispensers? the answer is why not
> 
> also also, the gift is handknit goods bc of course it is, this is a collection of clichés


	11. In Which Sans Furthers The Misunderstanding

Asgore sighs. “I know you explained this to me back when you asked me to be your friend, but I still don’t get it. Why don’t you call someone your friend unless you’ve asked permission?”

“Because it’s rude!” you whine, twisting the fabric of your clothes uncomfortably. “Rude and presumptuous.”

“I’m pretty sure that if they consider you a friend it’s not a presumption.”

“But I don’t know for sure,” you protest. “I won’t know until I ask. I mean…” A small smile creeps its way onto your face. “I really, really want to be his friend. I really do. But…”

“Rude and presumptuous, right.” He scratches the back of his head. “Why haven’t you asked him yet?”

“Because…I’m worried he’ll say no.” You look away, biting your lip. “I can’t read him at all. I think he enjoys my company, but I really can’t tell. And it would break my heart if he said he didn’t want to be my friend.”

“I’m sure he won’t say no,” Asgore says gently. “I’ve seen how he looks around you. It’s so much different than the way he looks at me. I’m sure he’ll be just as surprised as I am that you even asked.”

“Thanks.” You offer up a weak smile. “Maybe I’ll ask him tonight. I don’t know where he went, though.”

Frisk skips up to you and signs, “He just left.”

“Aw.” You pout. “That’s too bad. Well…after winter break, then, I guess. I don’t have his phone number or anything.”

“What is it you want to ask Uncle Sans?” Frisk signs, a mischievous look on their face. “Do you like him? Kid says you do.”

“Not you too!” you groan. “We’re just…”

“Friends,” Asgore supplies, with a meaningful look towards you. Your smile this time is more genuine.

“Yeah.”

\------------

Winter break is kind of lonely. It’s your first holiday season away from your family, really, and you don’t exactly have any friends outside of the staff and online. Even though breaks are supposed to be relaxing, you find yourself counting down the days until school starts again.

But, eventually, time passes and it’s the first day of the new semester. Toriel welcomes everybody back at the start of the faculty meeting, and you’re practically bouncing in your seat. Asgore laughingly puts a hand on your shoulder until you calm down. 

Immediately after the meeting ends, Asgore leans over and whispers, “So are you going to ask him today?”

You blush slightly without really knowing why. “Um…yeah, I think so.” You spot him passing by and say, “Wish me luck!”

You run after him, and for a second you think he’s speeding up, but you dismiss the thought as laughable. Why would he speed up? He never exerts any extra effort. 

“Sans! Happy New Year, and welcome back!” you say cheerfully.

“…yeah.”

You tilt your head, walking slightly behind him. “You sound sort of down. Are you okay?”

“just peachy.”

“Well…if you say so,” you say, privately resolving to spend some extra effort cheering him up later. Maybe you’ll offer him your dessert. He’s a sucker for desserts. “So how was your break?”

“fine.”

“Good! Mine was okay, but…” You squirm a little. “I really missed everybody. And you.”

He stiffens, stopping in place. 

“Actually, I sort of wanted to ask you something. Um…this is kind of awkward, but—“

He clenches his fists and suddenly yells, “why are you talking to me?”

You step back, alarmed. “Sans? I’m—“

“it’s not like we’re friends or anything,” he hisses, and your heart stops.

He starts walking again, but you feel frozen in place.

“Oh,” you whisper. “Okay.”

Well, you guess that answers that.

You feel like crying, but you don’t have time. Your class starts in five minutes. So you plaster on your best smile and push the pain of rejection way back in the dark corners of your mind. 

You’re not the best actor, though, and some of the kids notice. A few come up to you worriedly after class and ask you if you’re sick. You just say that you’re not feeling your best that day, but thanks, and don’t they need to get to PE?

You somehow manage to make it through until lunch, but when you spot Asgore, he mouths, “How was it?” and you can’t do this anymore. Your face crumples and you run outside to the gardens.

Sans sees, and his SOUL yearns to be near you, to tell you everything will be okay. But he tells himself that it’s not his right. You’re not friends, after all.

Asgore runs after you and finds you quiet, tears streaming in a steady flow down your cheeks. You’re situated under a big tree, knees drawn up to your chin. He sits down next to you and silently puts an arm around your shoulders.

“What happened?” he asks after a while.

“I didn’t even get to ask,” you say miserably, voice thick. “He just got really angry and asked me why I was even talking to him if we weren’t friends. I figure that answers the question well enough.”

“Oh, ________,” he says sympathetically. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You wipe some of the tears off and curl into Asgore’s fur. “I don’t really get it. If he didn’t want to be friends, why would he even tolerate me for all these months? Was he just in a bad mood today and he got tired of dealing with me?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s—what is it you always say? A jerk.”

You nuzzle into the soft fuzz and sigh. “I don’t think he is, though. I’m just—I must have done something, or—maybe I’m just not good enough.” You chuckle bitterly. “It wouldn’t be the first time I wasn’t good enough to be friends with someone. I suck.”

“No, no,” Asgore says helplessly. “That’s not true at all. You’re one of the best people I know. Certainly you have your faults, but doesn’t everyone? He’s just being irrational. Anybody would be lucky to be friends with you. I myself am lucky to be friends with you.”

You smile slightly into his side. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“I’m not just saying it. It’s the truth. You have done so much for me where nobody else even thought to step in. He’s missing out on a wonderful experience.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, starting to feel sleepy, your eyes heavy. “You’re the best.”

Asgore looks at your droopy eyes and decides you deserve, at the very least, a little rest. He’ll wake you up when lunch is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, sans and reader-chan, you're going to have to suffer for a while longer


	12. In Which Sans Is Confronted By An Angry Goat

Asgore sends you off with a hug at the end of the day and an admonition to take care of yourself. Personally, you have some ice cream in the freezer that’s calling your name, so you’re sort of looking forward to cuddling up on your bed with the ice cream and your computer. 

Once you’re safely out of the way, Asgore patrols the building until he finds Sans, finishing up some work in the science room. For a moment he just stands there, an imposing presence in the doorway, trying to collect himself.

But then he remembers the tears on your face, and he decides he doesn’t really want to be collected right now.

“You,” he growls.

Sans starts, but responds casually. “me, yes.”

“You made them cry.”

This is new information to Sans. He had presumed the incident at lunch was unrelated. Or…well, more accurately, he had told the nagging voice at the corner of his mind that it was unrelated and to shut up, he hadn’t done anything wrong. 

“i just stated a fact,” he says defensively.

“A fact?! They thought you were their friend!” 

Sans’ mind starts racing. What? Then…what, you realized he thought he was your friend, but you just weren’t his? Or…his SOUL runs cold. Could he have made a mistake?

Asgore continues angrily, “If you didn’t think the same, you could have at least let them down nicely. But no. You were cruel, and you made a genuinely good person cry, and for what? To satisfy your sense of superiority? To—“

Sans holds up his hands. “okay, stop. i really don’t get what’s going on.”

Asgore is about to blow up, but Sans adds, “i heard you two at the party. they don’t consider me a friend, right?”

Asgore is silent, processing. Finally he says, “How much of that conversation did you overhear?”

“i left as soon as they said i wasn’t their friend. didn’t really think there was more to say after that.”

Asgore groans. “Sans. You should have stayed. They don’t officially call anyone their friend unless they’ve asked permission. They said they wanted to be your friend, but they didn’t want to be presumptuous by assuming you felt the same way.”

Oh.

“They were going to ask you today when you went off at them. That’s why they were so sad.”

He really has made a mistake, hasn’t he. Frustration wells up in him, and he doesn’t realize he’s raising his voice until he says, “that’s so…nobody asks to be friends anymore! this isn’t kindergarten!”

Asgore shrugs. “They consider it a courtesy. That’s just the type of person they are.”

“and they already asked you, i’m guessing?” he asks, suddenly feeling bitter.

“Well, yes. They waited to ask you because they couldn’t tell how you felt and they said they would be heartbroken if you said no.” Asgore fixes Sans with a stern glare. “You’re important to them.”

Sans drags his hands over his face. “crap.”

“Crap indeed.”

“do you—“ Sans sighs. “do you have their phone number or anything?”

“Yes, but I’ll do you one better. I have their address.”

His SOUL pulsates with that weird jealousy again. He ignores it. “you want me to go to their house?”

“I think it’s appropriate in this case, isn’t it?”

“…maybe.” He’s starting to feel uncomfortable under Asgore’s intense gaze.

“Well, I’ll give you the address, and you can make your own decision, I suppose.”

“ok. um…thanks.”

“Of course.”

Still feeling a little bit weird about the whole situation, but wanting to fix things, Sans takes the address and trudges out to his car. You live in an apartment complex not too far from his and Papyrus’ house. 

He rings the doorbell nervously. Footsteps sound throughout the house before reaching the door. You open the door with an obviously fake smile and a, “Hi, what can I do for y—“ before looking down. All emotion immediately drops from your face.

“um…hey.”

“…Hello.”

He’s quiet, trying to organize his thoughts. You fidget and say, “Sorry, was there something I could do for you? And, um…are you sure it couldn’t wait for tomorrow? This is kind of unprofessional—“

“i don’t want to be professional with you,” he blurts out, then kicks himself. That sounds sort of like a proposition. Your eyebrows raise sky high, and he hurriedly adds, “i mean, not just professional. i want to be…um…crap, this isn’t working. i wanted to say sorry, first of all.”

“Sorry for what?” you ask carefully.

“earlier today, i said we weren’t friends. i was operating under a misunderstanding, and from what Asgore said—“

Your face scrunches up, and he hears you mutter, “Oh. Him.”

“yeah, him. anyway, he said that you were operating under a misunderstanding too, basically. like…that you thought you had to ask for permission to be friends?”

“He told you that?” You scratch your head awkwardly. “Well, yeah. I know it’s sort of weird, promise, I just—“

“i had thought we were already friends this whole time, see,” he says, and really hopes Asgore was telling the truth. “so when i heard you didn’t think the same it sort of hurt my feelings.”

Your face lights up, then falls. “Oh. Um…sorry.”

“no, it’s fine, i just didn’t understand, but…i guess i’ll ask, then. _________, do you want to be my friend?”

A shy smile blossoms across your face. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”

He basks in your smile, before answering with a smile of his own. “good. that’s really good. me too.”

You kneel down on the ground and say seriously, “We have to seal it with a hug.”

“ugh, really?”

“Yeah, of course! It’s the rules.”

“who made these rules?”

“Me. C’mere.”

Grudgingly, he allows himself to be encircled by your arms. You’re warm in the winter cold, and suddenly he feels like he wants to be here forever.

He pushes back that feeling too. That seems to be happening more often with you, but he’s not going to think too hard about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see i can't manage angst for too long. yw
> 
> i want an asgore to solve misunderstandings for me too :'(


	13. In Which Sans Makes Preparations For Valentine's Day

A month passes, and then it’s February. You enthusiastically help Toriel decorate the History classroom with a plethora of lacy hearts. The rough monster equivalent of Valentine’s Day, Soul Sharing Day, isn’t until later in the year in May, but the monsters have been up here long enough to join in the celebrations for the February holiday. 

You obviously don’t really have anybody to celebrate Valentine’s Day with, but the kids are excited, and you’re excited about them being excited so it works out. Besides, you have fond memories of celebrating the holiday in school yourself, of receiving lots of candy and pastel cards, and you’d never deny your students that joy.

Sans walks in on you one day after school dreamily arranging some pink and white carnations in a vase on the desk.

“Oh, Sans, hello! Aren’t these just perfect?”

He looks and nods, humoring you. “very festive.”

“Asgore brought them in earlier today from the garden,” you gush, and Sans stiffens. 

“I think he sort of secretly just wanted to give Toriel flowers in a way that she would accept,” you confide, and Sans relaxes again. 

“i don’t know why he keeps trying. she’s never going to take him back.”

You stroke the petals of the flowers one last time, then stand up. “I don’t think he’s under any illusions there. They’re more apologies than romantic overtures.”

“i don’t think she’s going to accept any apologies, either.”

You shrug. “Maybe not. But I don’t think it’s wrong to try.”

You start walking out to the parking lot together. Conversationally, Sans asks, “so, what will you be doing on the big day?”

“Valentine’s Day?” You brighten slightly at the mention. “I’ve actually been meaning to ask you about that. Asgore and I—“

“you’re spending it with him?” His SOUL plunges deep into his chest at the revelation.

“Yeah! We’re going to watch a bunch of crappy rom-coms and make fun of them. Do you want to come? You can bring Papyrus, too!”

So…probably not a date, then, but…Without really thinking it through, he blurts out, “i’ll come.”

Your jaw drops. “Wait, really?”

Well, he can’t exactly back out of it now. “um…yeah. Papyrus loves that sort of thing, so.”

“Thank you so much!” Suddenly, he feels his hands being held, and he looks down in a kind of hazy surprise. You’ve latched onto both of his hands and are grinning at him. “We’re going to have so much fun. I’ll bake, too!”

“yeah.” Crap, what has he gotten himself into.

“No, really.” He looks up and finds you with a sincere expression. “It means so much to me that you’re coming. Thank you.”

“…no problem.”

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” You wave goodbye, letting go of his hands. He feels the loss keenly.

“yeah. see ya.”

He drives home lost in thought. He doesn’t know why he accepted your invitation. He doesn’t spend any more time with Asgore than he has to. But…even the merest thought of you spending time with Asgore alone makes his SOUL flash angrily.

When he gets home, he’s still a bit out of it. Papyrus notices—of course he does, they’ve been together forever—and inquires, “BROTHER, ARE YOU DOING ALL RIGHT?”

“yeah. i’m just sort of confused about something.”

“WHAT IS IT? PERHAPS I CAN HELP.”

“well…” He explains the situation to Papyrus as best as he can, tells him about his feelings of jealousy and anger regarding you and Asgore, and about his SOUL acting up so much around you.

“it’s ridiculous, because i know there isn’t anything going on between them. or…i mean, i don’t think so, but…”

“BROTHER. I THINK THE SITUATION IS PRETTY CLEAR.”

“huh? really?”

“YOU OBVIOUSLY HAVE DEEP ROMANTIC FEELINGS FOR ASGORE!”

Sans draws back. “what the frick, Papyrus?” He is like ninety-nine percent certain he doesn’t have positive feelings of any kind for Asgore, much less—

“JUST KIDDING. YOU HAVE BEEN TAKEN IN BY MY MASTERFUL JAPES ONCE MORE, NYEH HEH HEH.”

Sans relaxes. “jeez, Pap. don’t say things like that to a guy.”

“JOKING ASIDE, IT IS PRETTY OBVIOUS THAT YOU LIKE _______.”

Sans chokes. “u-um…what? we’re just—“

“BUT YOU WANT TO BE MORE, DON’T YOU?” Papyrus gives a reproachful look to Sans. “I’M SURPRISED YOU HAVEN’T NOTICED YOURSELF.”

Sans falls silent, considering.

He thinks about how much he’s always wanted to see you smile at him, and then to keep you smiling like that forever. How he always wants to spend time with you, even when you spend a lot of your time with somebody he hates. How he feels when you’re with Asgore. How he feels when you’re with him.

Crap.

“I SEE YOU HAVE REALIZED IT.”

“Pap, why do you have to be so smart?” he says miserably.

“I AM JUST A ROMANTIC EXPERT, IS ALL,” Papyrus says modestly. 

“oh yeah, romance expert? so what do i do?”

“ROMANCE THEM, OF COURSE! TELL THEM YOU WANT TO DATE THEM MANY TIMES.”

“i can’t just say that! what if they say no?”

“WHAT IF THEY SAY YES?” Papyrus says simply. “I THINK YOU HAVE FAR MORE TO GAIN THAN YOU DO TO LOSE.”

“what if they don’t want to be friends anymore?”

Papyrus tilts his head. “WHY WOULDN’T THEY?”

“because…i don’t know! maybe they’ll think i’m weird, or something.”

“OR MAYBE THEY’LL NOT BE A BABY ABOUT IT LIKE YOU ARE BEING.”

Sans scowls. “rude.”

“REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED THE LAST TIME THE TWO OF YOU DIDN’T COMMUNICATE? IT IS KEY TO A POSITIVE RELATIONSHIP, YOU KNOW.”

“yeah, i know. i remember.” Sans rubs his hands over his face. “do you really think there’s a possibility they’ll like me back?”

“SANS, WHO WOULDN’T LIKE YOU BACK? YOU ARE A FINE SPECIMEN OF SKELETON.” Papyrus pauses, then smiles genuinely. “AND YOU DESERVE TO BE HAPPY.”

“…fine. then…i guess…”

“ASK THEM ON VALENTINE’S DAY,” Papyrus suggests. “THAT’S VERY ROMANTIC.”

“you’re sure it isn’t too cheesy?”

“IT IS, BUT THEY DON’T SOUND LIKE THEY MIND CHEESY.”

“all right. Valentine’s Day, then.”

“VALENTINE’S DAY.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun...dun dun?


	14. In Which You Hold A Valentine's Day Party And Sans' Hand

Valentine’s Day comes. You prepared valentines for everybody in your class—with historical presidential puns on them, of course, which makes everybody groan, but at least they like the candy—and you watch happily as they exchange valentines among themselves. You even get a few yourself, including a gift of chocolate truffles. You make a mental note to thank the kid’s parents next parent-teacher conference.

Even the classes themselves have a tinge of Valentine’s spirit. Toriel teaches about the legendary romance between the first two monsters, and Nolan has the kids write some poetry about love for their parents, and you teach about the origin of the holiday, which isn’t very romantic but is history. Undyne…well, Undyne orders the kids to do a pacer test. There’s nothing romantic about physical education.

You peek into Sans’ class during your free period and find even him teaching about endorphins and their effect on love. You lean against the doorframe and smile and wave when he sees you. For some reason unbeknownst to you—perhaps it’s a bit warm in the classroom?—he blushes a bright cyan in response, but waves back shyly.

The class, which is of course Class 3, oohs in unison, and he tells you to go away, you’re distracting the students. You laugh and wave once more, telling him you’ll see him tonight on your way out. You hear the class erupt into chatter behind you, which makes you giggle quietly. It’s a holiday, after all. You don’t mind throwing them a bone. Or a skeleton, as the case may be.

Anyway, the day goes very smoothly, and you’re nearly glowing by the end of it, excited for tonight. It’s a rare occasion that you get to spend time with your two best friends together, given they dislike each other so much. You couldn’t ask for a better Valentine’s gift, honestly. 

You bake brownies, which aren’t your favorite but Asgore loves. Plus, they’re sort of the quintessential Valentine’s treat. Biting your lip, you look around your kitchen and decide you have enough time to make cookies too, which are Sans’ favorite. You figure you should reward him in some way for being nice enough to come tonight. Besides, you love cookies too.

The clock strikes seven and Asgore arrives, bearing his pick of what is apparently “perhaps not one of the worst rom-coms of all time, but definitely one of my favorites”. You tease him a little bit about that, and he blushes and defends his honor. “They’re sweet!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “Mine is better, though.”

You’ve picked an old movie, one that’s probably one of the worst movies ever made. It’s self-described by the creator as a ‘romantic thriller’, so it doesn’t exactly fit the bill, but you love it and you’re the one who organized this thing in the first place, so you magnanimously allow yourself to submit the movie for consideration.

Sans, arriving about ten minutes late with a Papyrus complaining about timeliness at his side, has brought an old movie about the high-flung romantic shenanigans of a mall designer and the heir to a pizza shop. “it’s absolutely horrid,” he says proudly. “the Underground got a lot of terrible ones in the dump, so my collection is excellent.”

Papyrus has brought his “ABSOLUTE MOST FAVORITE METTATON ROMANCE!” It apparently contains “LOTS OF ROMANCE, LOTS OF INTRIGUE, AND COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF EXPLOSIONS!” You exchange a glance with Sans, who shrugs.

“told you he was into this crap.”

“METTATON IS NOT CRAP, BROTHER! HE IS THE FINEST ACTOR OF THIS GENERATION, NAY, ACROSS ALL GENERATIONS! ALSO HE HAS A FANTASTIC DERRIERE.”

Sans chokes at that and doesn’t speak at all for the next ten minutes, apparently too busy fuming. You pat him on the back sympathetically and he turns blue again. You offer to lower the temperature in the room, but he tells you it’s fine.

Neither of you notice Asgore’s knowing look.

After two movies, Papyrus’ and Asgore’s, they exchange a glance and say that they’re both tuckered out.

“Already?” you ask. “It’s only eleven.”

“ELEVEN IS MY BEDTIME!” explains Papyrus.

“I apologize, my dear.” Asgore fights a smile at the sight of Sans frowning about this endearment. “These old bones require a lot more sleep than they used to.”

“You’re not old,” you protest, but amend, “But if you’re really tired, you should definitely go to sleep.”

You hug both of them goodbye and thank them for coming. “Do either of you want brownies or cookies for the road?”

“COOKIES, PLEASE!”

You wrap up three cookies for Papyrus and push them towards him, smiling. “Well, guess it’s just me and Sans now! Don’t worry, I’ll get him back to you at a truly irresponsible time of night.”

“ALL TIMES OF NIGHT PAST ELEVEN ARE IRRESPONSIBLE,” Papyrus says seriously, then winks exaggeratedly at Sans, who facepalms. He turns around and leaves for his house on foot.

Asgore lingers a little longer, asking for a few brownies himself. He whispers something to you when you hand them to him, and you tilt your head in question.

“Really? You think so?”

“Yes, definitely.” He throws a big smile towards Sans, who scowls. “Sans, it’s been a pleasure.”

Sans holds his tongue and just waves lazily in response.

And then Asgore leaves, and it’s just you and Sans, alone.

You beam at him when you sit down. “So, want to do your movie or mine first?”

“let’s finish off with your movie, if it’s as awful as you say,” he decides. 

“Oh, it is.”

You start his movie, and have a lot of fun making fun of it ruthlessly.

“Why pizza, anyway?” you ask quizzically. “Who was the executive on this movie that said, you know what’s the most romantic profession? Probably making pizza.”

“that’s because it is the most romantic profession,” he says in a deadpan voice. “bet you you would love me if i made you pizza.”

You giggle. “Ooh, baby, ooh. Seduce me with your pizza pie.”

“pepperoni or anchovy?”

“Ew, anchovy isn’t sexy at all!”

“you’re a blasphemer, is what you are. anchovy is the best pizza topping.”

“That’s just patently untrue.”

You grin at him a moment further, then move in a little closer.

“see? you obviously have already been drawn in by my sexy pizza rhetoric.”

“Yeah, shut up.”

Then you take his hand, and he does exactly that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooOOOOOHHHHHHH--
> 
> i might even get one more chapter out tonight, we'll see! im on a Roll
> 
> P.S. sans' movie is Desperately Seeking Santa and does indeed exist and is terrible. your movie is Birdemic which i've used in a fic before but will continue to use bc it's amazing.


	15. In Which All Of My Readers Will Hate Me

“um…________?”

“Sorry,” you say, not sounding very sorry at all. 

“no, uh, it’s fine, but…why?”

“Asgore said if I really wanted to thank you for coming over tonight I should hold your hand,” you say cheerfully, and his stomach—if he has one—drops.

He pulls his hands from yours like he’s been burned and holds them on his lap, frowning. 

You lay back and sulk. “Aw. I sorta liked it.” 

“then…” Hesitantly, he extends his hand again. “if you want, you can, uh…you can do it again.”

You brighten. “Really?” Then you take his proffered hand and squeeze it. “Thanks,” you say softly, and he nods, blushing. 

You finish up the pizza movie—“a truly bad specimen,” you declare seriously, “thank you for your contribution”—and start your pick.

By the beginning, he’s already hooked. “it’s three and a half minutes of driving,” he says, awed, “with a looped score. what is this.”

You grin. “Just wait until we meet the main character. He’s a gem.”

The movie continues to play out, and you continue to hold Sans’ hand, and he starts to feel overwhelmed. You’re so close, and you’re so cute, and crap, you have the best taste in horrible movies—

“i like you,” he blurts out.

You turn slowly to him, tilting your head. “Um, okay? I like you too, I guess. Nerd.”

“no, like—romantically.”

Your face immediately falls, and you retract your hands to start fidgeting intensely. “Oh.” 

His SOUL stops.

“oh?”

“I…crap.”

Of all the things he expects, he doesn’t expect for tears to start beading at the corner of your eyes. He doesn’t know what’s happening, but something has obviously gone terribly wrong.

“um—i’m sorry?” he says, worried. “what’s wrong—“

“I don’t…I’m not…” You take a deep, shuddering breath, and the tears start streaming in earnest. “You’re going to hate me.”

“why would i—please, just tell me what’s wrong!”

“You’re going to hate me and it’s all my fault,” you say, starting to sound hysterical. “Why did you have to—crap! No, it’s not your fault, but—“

He puts his hands on yours, and you startle. “i won’t hate you, i promise. please, just let me know how i can help you.”

You take a few deep breaths, then squeeze your eyes shut, looking like you think he’s going to hurt you. “I’m aromantic.”

“…oh.”

“Or, I think I am,” you hurriedly add. “I’m actually not sure. Because, like…I don’t get it, I guess? I don’t understand what the difference is between being friends and being datefriends aside from kissing.”

He feels lost, his SOUL shriveling up inside him. “um…well, it’s like…”

“No, you don’t have to explain it to me,” you say, sounding defeated and very, very small. “People have tried before. I think I just am built different, or something.”

“gotcha.” He wants to leave, he wants to hide, he wants to be anywhere but here, underneath your miserable gaze—

“Anyway, I’m—I wish so much I could say I like you in that way. I wish I could be that for you.” You look sort of like you’re going to start crying again. “You’re one of my very best friends, Sans. I want to make you happy. But…I don’t think I can. Not like this, anyway.”

“yeah.”

“If you don’t want to be friends anymore, I understand,” you mumble. “I’m not—normal. I’m not good. I’m—“

He stops you with a hand on your shoulder. “no, it’s fine.” He tries to smile, fails. “you’re just as normal as i am. just different, yeah?”

“But—“

“hey, no buts. you’re still my best friend. just…give me a bit of time, maybe.”

Your lower lip trembles. “How much t—“ You shake your head emphatically. “No. No, I’m not going to ask that. You can have as long as you need, Sans. I just want you to be okay. I’m so sorry.”

“it’s fine.” It sort of isn’t, but he’s not going to say that. Because it has to be fine. He has to be fine for you. He’s not going to make you feel unwanted or abnormal just because he has these feelings. He’s going to make it be fine.

But then he feels a hesitant pair of lips on his cheek, and he steps back like you electrocuted him, and your eyes are wide and luminous.

“please don’t do that,” he says, and he feels like he might start screaming. “please—i have to leave.”

“Sans, I’m sorry—“

“it’s…i have to leave.” He turns abruptly and leaves you watching him leave, huddled in his sweatshirt in the new snow under the moonlight.

You think that you’ve watched him leave too many times already.

He gets home and crumples onto the couch, staring dully at the walls. He’s not sure whether he wants to cry or scream or punch a wall or what, and he hates himself for being so affected. Your romantic orientation isn’t your fault. It isn’t your fault you don’t like him like he wants to be liked. 

But at the same time, he had gotten his hopes up so high. He had imagined nights and days and nights again with you, your hand against his hand, your lips against his teeth, your life entwined with his own. 

He can still be with you, he reminds himself. Just not like that. He can be with you, just not as the most important person in your life.

And, he realizes with a sinking SOUL, wasn’t that sort of what he wanted? He wanted all of you, all to himself. And that’s not fair to you even if you did like him back. You have the right to be your own person, to have your own friends. You don’t belong to him.

But…that’s not all he wanted. He didn’t want to just possess you. He wanted someone to love him back, to make him feel like he was worthwhile, like he was somebody worth loving. And it isn’t your fault, but he wanted that to be with you, so much it feels like burning. And you can’t give that to him.

Papyrus comes down, rubbing his eyes, and asks tiredly, “SO HOW DID IT GO?”

That’s all it takes to make him finally break down. “not good, bro, not good.” And then he starts crying, for him and for you and for the unfairness of it all, for a future that will never be.

Papyrus, thankfully, doesn’t ask any questions. He just strokes Sans’ back and whispers “SHHH, YOU’LL BE ALL RIGHT,” and eventually Sans almost starts to believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as an aromantic asexual, i think a lot about how i would respond if somebody ever confessed to me. the idea terrifies me because i'm so scared of not being able to give people what they want from me. i also think a lot about how a person would respond if somebody they loved were aromantic, and how it would hurt and how they would try to reconcile it with being sensitive to the needs and wants of the person in question. i struggle a lot with trying to see myself as whole, as normal, because of this. not that platonic relationships aren't important, but it seems like everybody else gets to experience something extra, something that brings a lot of pain but also a lot of joy, and sometimes i just wish that i could too. despite this doubt, i still think i and all people on the aro/ace spectrum deserve just as much as anybody else to be loved and to love other people, even if it's not in a romantic or sexual way. so i'm sorry, a little bit, to turn this story into a platform to explore that issue, but i'm also sort of not because i think it's important. 
> 
> all of this said, sans/reader is still endgame in this story. i don't want to give away how that comes to pass, but i promise it will and hopefully it will be satisfying. 
> 
> thank you all for reading, again, and i hope all of you will still be willing to follow me along this journey.


	16. In Which You And Sans Both Consult Your Respective Friends

The next Monday is the first time you see Sans since your conversation. You make eye contact and both immediately look away. You wish it didn’t have to be like this, but he said he needed time. You have to be willing to give him that.

Asgore comes up to your usual table and asks gleefully, “So, how did it go?”

You fix him with a dry look and try not to feel angry. Not his fault, not his fault. Just yours. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says primly.

“Leaving early. Leaving me with Sans.” You sigh and run your hand through your hair. “I wish you hadn’t.”

He sits down with a thump and frowns. “What did he do?”

You chuckle bitterly. “He didn’t do anything, Asgore. He offered his SOUL to me on a plate and I had to say no and now I feel like crap.”

“Why—I thought—“

“I’m aromantic, Asgore.”

“…Oh. Oh, dear. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you mumble, letting your head hit the table with a satisfying thud. “Just mine, only mine.”

“What? What makes you say that? It’s just how you are, ________, it’s not anybody’s ‘fault’.”

You look up balefully. “I hurt his feelings so badly, Asgore. He’s pretty good at hiding what he’s thinking, usually, but I could tell he was this far away from crying. I can’t just let myself off the hook for that.”

“I’m sure he understands,” Asgore says gently. “There is no hook, there is no blame. I wasn’t there, but I know you handled it as best as you could. I know because you’re a kind, good person.”

“I’m not, but thanks.” You let your head fall back down. “Why couldn’t I just be born like other people?”

“Your differences make you special. They make you you.”

You huff. “I don’t want to be me. I want to be someone who can make my friends happy.”

“And you do. You make me very happy.”

“No offense, but you’re not really the one I’m worried about in this situation.”

Asgore pauses. “Well, if you didn’t make Sans happy too, I’m sure he wouldn’t like you as much as he does.”

This is apparently the wrong thing to say, because you groan and start hitting your head rhythmically against the table. “Why did he have to like me anyway? What about me is even remotely likeable?” 

“I think you’re very likeable,” he soothes.

You stop hitting your head and glare at Asgore. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments.”

“Well, then…the heart loves who it will, I suppose. I don’t think Sans has any control over it any more than you have control over whether you like someone or not.”

“I wish I had control,” you say miserably. “I’d make myself love him.”

“I don’t think that’s what he wants, though,” Asgore says slowly. “I think he wants you just as you are.”

You consider that, then exhale. "I just hope we can still be friends. Maybe that’s really selfish of me, but—“

“It’s not selfish. I’m sure he’ll come around.”

“He said he needed time,” you mutter in response. “What does that even mean? Like, isn’t that what you say when you’re breaking up with someone?”

“I think it means exactly what it sounds like. He just needs some time to process, and then you two can resume your friendship. I might be wrong, but I believe everything will be okay.”

You feel a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself. “You’re far too optimistic.”

He laughs. “And you’re a dirty pessimist. See how the tables turn.”

You take one of his hands. “Thanks, Asgore. I feel a little better. I’m sorry for whining.”

He smiles and ruffles your hair. “That’s what friends are for.” 

\-------------------

Sans watches this whole procedure. He almost wants to laugh at how obviously you show your emotions. It’s one of the reasons he likes you.

He frowns and shakes his head to clear it. No. Past tense. He can’t like you anymore, it’s—

But who is he kidding? He still likes you, regardless of whether he’s allowed, regardless of whether you reciprocate. He’s not sure how to make that stop unless he leaves you completely, and he doesn’t think he can do that, not without making both of you miserable. So…would it really be so terrible if he just liked you quietly? 

His thoughts are interrupted by you holding one of Asgore’s hands. He feels that familiar pang of jealousy, but a thought makes him brighten. Well, hey, at least if you’re aromantic, you won’t be going for Asgore, either.

From his side, he hears, “One gold for your thoughts.”

He turns and sees Toriel, looking at him with an amused expression.

“aren’t you supposed to be, like, giving a speech or something?”

“I just finished, which you would have known if you were paying attention to me instead of a certain other history teacher.”

He flushes lightly. “oh.”

Toriel settles down at the table, smoothing out her skirt, and asks, “So…what is the deal with you two, anyway?”

He deflates, and Toriel winces. “Oh. Sensitive subject?”

“i like them, they don’t like me back. it stings a little, is all.”

“They don’t? I could have sworn—“

“me too. but…” He contemplates telling her, but decides he doesn’t want to out you without your consent. Guess that’s something to talk about with you later. “yeah.”

“That’s too bad,” Toriel says sympathetically. “I hope you can remain friends, though.”

“yeah. i hope so too.”

Because losing you as a friend would be even worse than losing a relationship that never even was. With that firmly in his mind, he strengthens his resolve, and goes over to your table.

“hey.”

You look up at him, confused. “Um…hey?”

“wanna walk together to our rooms?”

Your face lights up. “Really?”

“yeah, really.”

And if your hand finds his way to his on the way there, well, he’s not going to stop you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate title: in which sans doesn't actually require very much time at all 
> 
> i figure he's used to holding things in so he's probably not actually that much better but he wants to make sure you're all right
> 
> ANYWAY
> 
> thank you all so much for your response to the last chapter. i was so amazed and heartened by the support i received and by the stories you were willing to share about your own experiences. and thank you to everyone who's still willing to stick with this story. i know it was a pretty big twist and i really appreciate that there are still people who want to see the story unfold.


	17. In Which You And Sans Talk About Family Issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: discussion of disordered family problems, including dead mother and absentee fathers

The months pass, and eventually you almost forget about the whole incident with Sans. Almost. Sometimes there’s something in the way he looks at you, or in the way he holds onto your hand a little too long. Each time, you just smile softly and he blushes a little bit and you both let it go.

On the upside of things, you feel so much closer to him now that he knows. You don’t keep your romantic orientation a secret, exactly, but you don’t talk about it much either. With that barrier gone, you feel free to tell him everything about yourself. You think he’s more willing to be open with you, too. 

One day you’re sitting on the couch in his house watching TV, you laying against his shoulder and him lazily running his fingers through your hair—he admitted once that he’s always had a fascination with hair, so you indulge him, and it feels nice anyway—when you ask him curiously, “So, do you have any family other than Pap?”

He pauses.

You say hurriedly, “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”

“no, that’s okay.” He sighs, and his fingers still. “we did, once. i don’t remember them very well. our mom died giving birth to Pap, and our dad disappeared a few years later. nobody knows what happened.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “You didn’t deserve that.”

He shrugs against you. “who really deserves anything?”

“Was he nice?”

“i guess? like i said, i don’t remember him well. but i remember him singing Pap to sleep once. he had a good voice. he was pretty busy, though, so he wasn’t actually around that much. even before he disappeared, i pretty much raised Papyrus on my own.”

“That must have been hard.”

“i guess. i didn’t exactly have a stellar childhood or anything. none of the other kids really liked me—i was too smart and too busy, not to mention super defensive of Papyrus, which didn’t earn me any favors—and so i guess i never really bothered liking them back. that’s probably why i was so against kids at first. like, i didn’t actively hate them or anything, but i just didn’t understand them because i was never exactly a kid myself.”

You sling an arm around his shoulders and nuzzle in further. “Well, I’m proud of you for getting over that. You’re so good with your students.”

“they make it pretty easy. they’re sweethearts.”

You nod and yawn. He resumes stroking your hair. “so what about you? any family?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty close to my mom. Moving out here is the furthest I’ve ever been from her, so I was really nervous at first.” He feels you smile against his collarbone. “She’s pretty funny, and I love her a lot.”

“dad?”

You scowl. “Technically. We don’t talk much. Occasionally he’ll tag me in something on Headspace and then I think that fills his parenting quota for the month. My parents got divorced when I was pretty young, and as far as I can tell, it was the best thing that ever happened to him. He was never really ready for kids. I remember hearing them fight over who would drive me to school, before everything happened, and I remember being so confused because why would he ever drive me to school? Mom won, obviously.”

Sans sidesteps the issue of your dad entirely and comments, “i bet you loved school as a kid.”

You laugh. “Yeah. I was very straight-laced, always did my homework on time and asked a ton of questions in class. The teachers loved me and I loved them back. They were my heroes, honestly, because they would always talk to me when nobody else would. The kids didn’t like me much either. Apparently I was irritating.”

“no. you?”

“Shut up,” you giggle. “You love me.” Then you straighten in horror. “Crap! I mean—well—it’s an expression, so, um—“

“i do,” he says, keeping his tone light. “even though you’re a dork.”

You relax minutely. “So magnanimous.”

“that’s me.”

You fall silent for a moment, before saying, “But I love you too, you know.”

“yeah. i know.”

This time, when you kiss him on the cheek, he doesn’t stop you. He just smiles quietly and returns to watching the television.

When you go home that evening, your mom Skypes you, waving as soon as the video feed goes up.

“Mom, hey! I was just talking about you earlier.”

“Really? All good things, I hope.”

“Nope. Only the worst.” You grin.

“You’re a terrible child.” Then she squints. “You’re smiling a lot today. Anything good happen?”

You consider. “Nothing special. I just spent the evening with Sans.”

Her eyebrows wiggle, and you groan. “Mom! Stop that. We’re friends.”

“You’re sure you’re not more than that?”

“I am so sure.”

“Fine,’ she pouts. “I just want you to be happy, you know.”

“And I am,” you say softly. “But I can be happy without a datefriend, you know.”

“Yes, I know. Or so you tell me.”

You let that one go and ask cheerfully, “So, how are things going at home? Is the kitchen still a disaster?”

“A messy kitchen is a sign of happiness,” she intones, like she’s invoking some ancient wisdom instead of being terribly irresponsible. “So, yes.”

You go to sleep that night feeling warm and loved and comfortable. Your thoughts turn from your mom to Sans. You’re so grateful for him. Asgore is wonderful, and you love him, but Sans feels different somehow. You want to be his best friend, to be everything to him. A part of you still hopes that you could come to love him in the way that he wants, but you’re pretty sure that’s not what this is. It’s more like you just really, really intensely want to be friends, for as long as he’ll let you.

And also you wouldn’t mind kissing him, just to see what it felt like.

You immediately start. Huh? What was that?

You decide you won’t tell Sans about that particular thought. It’s probably just the late hour, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note the updated chapter count. 
> 
> i made an 8tracks for this fic if you wanna see it. it's here http://8tracks.com/iwasbibliomaniac/to-love-or-something-like-it
> 
> oh and since i havent said it yet this fic, my tumblr is anuninterestingperson if you wanna talk or just say hello!


	18. In Which You Ask An Awkward Question On Accident

Today is the first day of May, which means you’re celebrating May Day with the kids. You take them out into the garden and have Asgore teach one of his rare lessons. They have lots of fun getting into the dirt and planting seeds, and the newly dubbed ‘Seventh Grade Garden Plot’—not a very catchy name, but Asgore is bad at those—is a rousing success. Of course, Flowey complains a little bit about the enslavement of his brethren for the aesthetic pleasure of others and threatens to head a riot, but then again, that’s Flowey.

You offer to chaperone lunch outside that day, and the kids enthusiastically consent. Asgore offers to watch over them while you invite all of the other classes outside. Your first stop is, of course, Sans.

You burst into the room, covered in grass stains, and beam at him. “Sans! Want to join us for lunch outside?”

“that sounds incredibly messy,” he says dryly, but he already knows what his answer is going to be. He can’t say no to you either. 

“But fun!” You turn to the kids and plead, “Come on, it’s such a nice day out today. Help convince Sans to go out with me.”

You hope your misstep will go unnoticed, but unfortunately, he’s teaching Class 3. Devious smiles spread across their faces. You sigh, but you’re still smiling yourself. It’s a beautiful day, and you’re used to their antics by now, and besides, the idea of people thinking you two are romantically involved doesn’t bother you so much anymore.

“Come on, Mr. Sans, go out with them!” shouts a child enthusiastically. 

“Smooch them!” yells another.

“Bear their children!” You give that one a look, and they grin in insincere apology.

“why, you’re so forward,” Sans drawls. “but you could just ask me directly.”

“Fine,” you shoot back. “Mr. Sans, will you do me the honor of accompanying me outside? We can sit in the dirt together and exchange passionate glances and perhaps some chisps.”

“well, if chisps are involved…”

“You two get along a lot better than you used to,” comments Kid. “It’s very adorable.”

You exchange glances with Sans. “Yeah,” you say happily. Then you squint at him. “So is that a yes or a yes?”

“yeah, fine. only since you asked so nicely. we’ll head out when class is finished up.”

“Yay! I’m going to go ask the other teachers now, okay?”

“’kay.”

You skip out of the building, presumably to find Toriel, who is next on your list. (This isn’t the first time this has happened, and you have explained to Sans that your list is very strict.) He smiles after you, then turns back to the class, ignoring their grins.

“all right. now, can anybody tell me what a plant requires to undergo photosynthesis…”

You go over to the history room and find Toriel. She’s in the middle of a lecture with Class 1, the kindergarteners, so you wait for her train of thought to finish up before interrupting her. You are a very courteous interrupter, after all. Also she’s your boss.

“Today’s the first day of May. Does anybody know what that means?”

Everybody’s hands go up. Kindergarteners are like that, always eager to please. It makes them really fun to teach.

She picks one of them. “Yes?”

“May Day!”

“Good, but I’m thinking of something else. What happens in the middle of May?”

Another one, a bright kid named Salomé, raises their hand patiently. “Soul Sharing Day.”

“Excellent! Starting the first day of May, monsters start preparing for Soul Sharing Day. It’s the time of year that monsters show their love for others, including parents, siblings, children, and significant others. They do so by giving presents and sending cards, much like the human Valentine’s Day, but they also perform a special ritual passed down from the first monsters.”

You’re intrigued by the conversation, so you keep listening silently. You’ve asked both Sans and Asgore about the holiday before, but they always get kind of dodgy, and the descriptions on the Internet are equally nonspecific. You actually feel like you’re sort of intruding listening in on this, but if the human kindergarteners are okay to listen to it, you should be fine too, right?

“It involves the literal sharing of souls, which is where the name of the holiday comes from. It’s a very private process, and you have to trust the other monster a lot to share your soul with them, even though it’s temporary. They have to be your most important person.”

Your most important person, huh? You wonder who Sans spends his Soul Sharing Days with. Probably Papyrus, but…your heart beats a little faster.

You decide that’s quite enough of that, and announce, “Hey, Toriel! We’re all eating outside today. Want to bring your class out after this?”

“Oh, _________. Certainly. We’ll be right out. Thank you for the invitation!”

“Yeah, no problem. I’m going to go get Nolan, Undyne, and, uh, what’s-her-name. The math teacher.”

“I don’t think her name is pronounceable to humans,” Toriel says mildly. “I’ll be seeing you, then.”

You fetch the other teachers as promised—everybody agrees to join but Nolan, who prefers the indoors—but your mind is elsewhere. You can’t stop wondering who Sans’ ‘most important person’ is. 

You plop down next to Sans on one of the blankets you’ve spread out. “Hey! How did the rest of the class go?”

“they wouldn’t stop making kissing noises and singing something about sitting in a tree,” Sans says ruefully. “it made it incredibly hard to teach about chlorophyll.”

“Sorry.”

“i don’t think you’re really sorry at all.”

“Nope, I’m not!” you say cheerfully. 

“rude.”

You make an obnoxious peace sign, then take out your lunch and pass some chisps to Sans, because you did promise, after all. 

“Hey, Sans,” you ask after a while, “Who do you do the Soul Sharing Day ritual with?”

Sans chokes, spitting out chisps everywhere. “jeez, _______! warn a guy!”

“Is it Papyrus?” you press.

“holy crap, no. only babybones spend Soul Sharing Day with their family. besides, he hates the ritual. says it makes him itchy.”

“Then who?”

He flushes a deep blue. “i’m hoping you don’t realize how incredibly personal a question that is.”

“Oh, sorry—“

“but—nobody, okay? i haven’t done the ritual since i was a kid.”

You’re quiet, contemplating. “Isn’t that lonely?”

“can we stop talking about this?” he hisses. 

“Oh. Yeah.”

You change the topic of conversation, but inside, you’re still stuck on how he small and sad he sounded when he said he didn’t have anybody to do the ritual with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to make it VERY CLEAR that this ritual is nonsexual. that's an entirely different fic lol
> 
> Soul Sharing Day is may 15th bc that's my birthday and it's a good date and im ridiculously self-indulgent
> 
> also do u like how i got out of having to make up a new name for a teacher ✌✌✌ a+ author amirite


	19. In Which You Ask An Awkward Question On Purpose

You’re still thinking about it when you go to bed that night. You don’t want him to be lonely, not ever. Maybe you can go over to his house on Soul Sharing Day and you can watch a movie? But Toriel had said it was a private day, so maybe…you pout. You don’t want to be shut out of his life even if it’s only for a day.

Your mind wanders, and you imagine a future where he finds someone else to spend time with. You imagine him telling you that he’s sorry, but he’s already made plans. You imagine him only talking to you about this new person, and then not talking to you at all. You imagine him telling them he loves them, and never thinking about you again, and doing the soul sharing ritual with them.

It takes you a second to realize that fresh tears have sprung up in your eyes. You don’t want that! You want to be his best friend forever. You want to always be in his life. You…you want to be his most important person. 

But is that even possible? You can’t give him what he wants. But…you remember Asgore saying, back that Monday after his confession, that he thought Sans wants you just the way you are. Maybe that means he’d be willing to take you even like this. You could hold hands—heck, you already do—and kiss just like any other couple, and ‘datefriend’ is just a name anyway, right? Sans is asexual just like you, so that won’t be a problem, and—

You’re getting ahead of yourself. He has to accept you first, but you think you know exactly how to ask.

This is the most perfect and flawless plan ever.

\----------------

This plan is far less perfect and flawless than you had estimated.

The next day after school, you had found Sans in his room. You had been bouncy the whole day with excitement, so much so that Toriel and Asgore both commented on it. You wanted to keep your plan a secret from Asgore just in case it didn’t go through so you didn’t say anything, just beamed at him and waltzed off.

You started off with some pleasantries—how were classes, did Flowey brag about being the only kid in the class able to actually photosynthesize again, Marco said what?!—and then get directly to the heart of things.

“So, hey. Do you wanna do the Soul Sharing Day ritual with me?”

He drops his pencil and just stares at you.

“i…i beg your _pardon_?”

“I’ve been thinking about it—“

“oh, you have?” he says sarcastically.

“—And I think, well. You need somebody to do it with and I want to do it with you, and—“

“good God.”

“Also,” you say, getting your thoughts slightly mixed up, “I think I want to kiss you.”

You think that went pretty well, but you start to grow less confident underneath his incredulous gaze.

Finally he says, “all right, i’m just going to go home and we’re going to both forget this ever happened.”

“Wait, what?” you cry. “I was saying—“

“You don’t understand anything about the Soul Sharing Day ritual,” he snaps, and his voice sounds colder than you’ve ever heard it. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

You shrink in on yourself at his tone. “Um, well, I overheard Toriel talking about it, and—“

“i’m not going to do this just because you’re curious, or because you pity me or something! it’s not like i need to do the ritual! i don’t need you!”

You take a step back, eyes wide.

Sans seems to realize what he said and his eyes go equally wide. “wait—wait, not like that, just—“

You run off before he can say anything more.

Asgore finds you crying underneath your favorite tree in the garden.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Why are you here?” you demand. You’re made far less intimidating by your red-rimmed eyes and running nose.

“Routine patrol?” he tries.

You glare at him.

“Okay, Sans said you were somewhere outside and probably crying and that you probably wouldn’t want to see him.”

“True,” you sniffle. “He’s extremely rude.”

“What happened?” Asgore asks sympathetically.

“I just asked him to do the Soul Sharing Day ritual with me, and—“

Asgore coughs. “I’m sorry, what?”

You frown. “Why does nobody hear me right the first time I say that? I said I asked to do the Soul Sharing Day ritual with him.”

“Dear heavens,” he says, sounding appalled. 

“Is it really that bad a thing to do?”

He sighs. “Unless you’re family, in which case you don’t really ask in the first place, it’s sort of akin to asking him to have hot, dirty sex with you. In public.”

You slowly turn red. “Oh.”

“Oh is right. Where did you even get the idea in the first place?”

“Well, Toriel was giving this lesson about Soul Sharing Day, and then I started thinking about who Sans’ most important person was, and I realized I wanted to be his most important person, and that I wanted to be together with him forever, except platonically, and—“

“Okay, slow down. You want to be with Sans? And that’s why you were asking about the ritual?”

“Well, yes.”

“Did you tell him that?”

You go over a mental transcript of your conversation and blanch. “Um…no.”

“Well, that’s your problem right there,” Asgore chides gently. “He must have thought you were asking—“

“Out of pity or curiosity, yeah. That’s what he said.” You run your hand over your face. “Crap. What do I do?”

“Explain,” he says simply. “Tell him what you just told me.” 

“You really think that will work?”

“For pete’s sakes, _______. Ninety percent of the time communication is the problem. I’m sure it will be fine.”

You’re silent, then, “That sounds like a fake statistic.”

Asgore growls. “It’s true enough. Come on, off you get.”

“Yes, sir.”

You run off to your car obediently and go home to mentally prepare yourself for the upcoming conversation with Sans. Then, you drive over to his and Papyrus’ house.

When you ring the doorbell, Papyrus answers. “WHY, WHAT AN UNEXPECTED SURPRISE! SANS, IT’S YOUR FRIEND-CRUSH.”

Sans is there in a flash, blushing. “don’t call them that! _______, hi, i’m so sorry for earlier—“

“No, I’m sorry. I said something really insensitive and I didn’t explain myself well, but I promise I had a reason.” You smile hopefully. “Can I come in?”

“um, well…”

“I have flashcards so I don’t mess up this time,” you say soberly, holding up your index cards.

He hesitates, then chuckles. “flash cards, huh? well, how can i deny you when you come bearing flash cards? yeah, come in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the beginning of the end


	20. In Which You Lay One On Sans

As soon as you step over the threshold, Sans says, “hey, Pap, can you go upstairs?”

“AW, BUT I WANTED—“

“we’re going to have a personal conversation.” He shoots a glance at you and then adds awkwardly, “very personal.”

“Sorry, Pap. When we’re done we can have a chat too, okay?”

“ALL RIGHT.” He pauses before closing his door and says, “BE SAFE. WINK.”

You flush. “Did…did he just…”

Sans groans. “i’m pretty sure he just, yes.”

“Great.”

“yeah.” He clears his throat. “wanna, uh…wanna sit down?”

“That’d be nice, thank you.” You sit down, intending to cuddle up next to Sans like you always do, but he pointedly sits at the opposite end of the couch. You frown down at your lap.

“so…”

“So.” You attempt to smile. “I really put my foot in my mouth earlier, didn’t I?”

“a bit.”

“Sorry. I talked to Asgore a bit about it—“

“you talked to Asgore?!” he yelps. “_______—“

“I needed to know what I did wrong!” you protest. “I knew it was private, but I didn’t know it was—that kind of private.” You cough. “Anyway, he helped me realize that I had missed something really important.”

Consulting your flash cards, you continue, “Sans, I wasn’t asking because I was curious about the ritual or because I pitied you for not having someone to do it with or anything like that. I was asking because I thought it would show you that I wanted to give everything to you.” You hang your head. “I messed that up, though.”

“give everything? what does that mean?” he asks carefully.

“When Toriel was talking about the ritual, she said that monsters did it with their most important person. And I thought about that, and I thought about somebody else taking my place, and I realized that I wanted to be your most important person. I want to be the person who you talk to every day, who you tell your deepest secrets, who you know you can always go to, and—I want you to be that for me too, if you’re willing.” You shrug. “I’ve never done this before, I’ve never felt this way before, so I don’t really know how this works, but I know I want to be with you. And, well—I’m not perfect in any sense of the word. I can’t give you what you want if what you want is romantic companionship, but—“ You smile hesitantly. “If what you want is me, you can have me, is what I’m saying.”

He doesn’t respond, so you start to babble. “And! We can call each other datefriends if that’s what you want, well, you would be my boyfriend and I would be your datefriend but anyway, and I’ve never kissed anyone before but I sort of want to try it with you, and we can hold hands and watch movies and maybe at some point move in together but—crap I’m getting ahead of myself, scratch that, um, where are my flash cards, I seem to have lost my train of thought, which is a weird idiom, is that the right word, idiom? Like why is it a train instead of a bicycle or perhaps—“

“_________.”

You sit at attention. “Um. Yes.”

He shifts in closer and takes your hand. “all i ever wanted was you,” he says simply. 

Your grin is immediate and bright. “Really?”

“yes, really.”

“Even though it’s not—“

He cuts you off. “if this is what you have to give me, this is what i want.” He considers. “i don’t know how this will work either, but we can work it out together, okay?”

You pull him into a hug and rest your head on his shoulder, murmuring, “Thank you. I love you.”

“i love you too,” he says, and for once it doesn’t matter that you mean different things, because is it really that different after all?

\------------

You bask in each other’s warmth for a while, before you pull back and say seriously, “By the way, we don’t have to do the ritual if you don’t want. I know it’s kind of—“

“you’re ridiculous. of course i want to do the ritual with you. why do you think it hurt so much when i thought you weren’t serious?”

“Sorry.”

“if we’re going to do it, we have to start preparing now, though. i haven’t done it in a while, but i’m pretty sure i remember how it works.”

“All right. What do I have to do?”

“it involves a lot of concentrating. you have to start eating more over the days leading up to it because it requires a lot of energy to bring your SOUL out outside of battle situations. monster food, not human, by the way. you should be getting a full night’s sleep every night because that raises your HP above your limit. also, you have to kiss me.”

“Right now?”

“right now.”

You nod seriously. “All right.” Then you lean over and kiss him on his teeth.

You don’t expect him to start laughing. “holy crap, you actually did it.”

“Huh? Of course I did, I—“

“i was joking. what, do you think i macked on Pap as kids? gross.”

You puff up your face, irritated, and he grins. “also i just wanted to kiss you.”

“You could’ve just asked,” you say, face relaxing. “You can have all of the human smooches you want now.”

“oooh. all of them?”

“Yep.”

“so if i wanted another human smooch i could just say, hey, lay one on me—“

“And it’d be yours,” you confirm. “Free of charge, even.”

“what a great service. you could take this nationwide.”

“I dunno, it’s very exclusive,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows. “Skeletons only.”

“what luck! i’m actually a skeleton myself.”

“Nice! Want to test it out, Mr. Skeleton?”

“absolutely. lay one on me, kissmeister.”

And as you smile into the kiss, he thinks he could get used to this. Not only that, but he’s allowed to get used to this. Things are pretty good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i added another chapter which will contain Soul Sharing Day and the epilogue so be on the lookout for that


	21. In Which You Get It On (It, Of Course, Being Soul Sharing Day)

Papyrus is off for the day with a friend, the lights are down low, and you and Sans are sitting down on the floor staring at each other.

It’s time to get it on.

(Your words, not his. He had flushed and asked if you really wanted to make this more awkward than it already is. You had said ‘absolutely’ and winked, and he had kissed you just to make you stop.)

“Am I positioned all right?” you ask somewhat anxiously, starting to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “Do I need to be more relaxed? Or less relaxed? Um—“

“you’re fine,” he says, taking both of your hands in his own. “you’re perfect.”

You wrinkle your nose at him fondly. “You’re a sap.”

“only for you. now, do you remember what i told you?”

Your face screws up as you try to recall his instructions. “Um…yeah. I have to clear my mind and envision a dark room with a heart shape at the center and then sorta…” You gesture vaguely. “Make it go out.”

“that’s paraphrasing more than a little bit, but yeah, basically. it can be hard to do without practice, so don’t worry if it doesn’t happen immediately. just let me know if you’re having problems and i can walk you through it, all right?”

“Okay.” You smile. “I’m ready.”

You both close your eyes and concentrate. Sans, who has done this before, has his SOUL out in the open within a few minutes. It meanders a little way away from him, towards you, and he frowns and forces it back. _Not yet._

It takes maybe around thirty minutes before a small, fragile little apparition of a SOUL appears before you. It bobs peacefully in the air, a light, almost pearlescent yellow. You open your eyes hesitantly then beam. “Sans, look, I did it!”

He squeezes your hand. “good job. keep concentrating, except this time on making it go further out, to about the middle of the space between us. proximity will make the sharing easier.”

His SOUL joyfully traverses the distance between you and him, flashing excitedly in the middle. He rolls his eyes and waits for your SOUL to make the journey. As he waits, he watches you. You’re really cute when you’re concentrating. (Not that you’re not cute all the time.)

After another few minutes, your SOULs are floating right next to each other. They cast a soft glow over your face, making you look almost ethereal.

“okay, open your eyes. you won’t want to miss this.”

A little curl of blue siphons off of his SOUL and makes its way to yours. You watch in awe, and hesitantly, a small bit of yellow leaves your SOUL as well, heading his direction.

Slowly, they merge into the SOULs, and you’re hit with everything all at once.

_mom is gone dad isn’t here have to take care of papyrus have to keep him safe don’t care what the other kids say don’t mind them they don’t understand knock knock who’s there promise to keep them safe, sans, they don’t deserve what he’s going to do to them, who’s this kid they’re sweet but then—pulled back who’s this kid they’re sweet but—back again, and this time this kid isn’t so sweet and he has to take care of papyrus and papyrus is gone and all he can do is fight and—back again, the kid is back and they are back to normal and he doesn’t understand and no, get away from papyrus, and back again back again back again and it never ends and sometimes papyrus dies and sometimes he doesn’t and he can’t do anything about it either way and nothing ever changes nothing ever matters—frisk is calling out to him and as if from sleep he awakens and then the gate is open and—please sans i need a science teacher won’t you come with me and you’re there all smiles and smiles and those smiles aren’t for him until they are and your kisses aren’t for him until they are and you aren’t for him, never for him, until you can have me is what i’m saying and all he’s ever wanted, all of this suffering and all of this pain was to have you and he loves you he loves you he loves you he—_

You pull away, gasping. Sans is more composed, but he’s blushing slightly. “hey. welcome back.”

“What—what was that?”

“that was SOUL sharing. now you’ve got a little piece of me and i’ve got a little piece of you. see?” Sans points at your SOUL, in which a small curl of blue is floating about placidly. You take a closer look at his SOUL and see a light yellow curl wiggling around, along with a much bigger orange curl, which is zapping about energetically.

He notices you staring and supplies, “Papyrus.”

You nod and collect yourself. “So…what I felt…that was your SOUL?”

“yeah. was it weird?” He looks uncertain.

“It was amazing.” You lean forward and kiss him on the bridge of his nasal cavity. Then a thought occurs to you. “Wait, did the same thing happen for you then? With my SOUL?”

“well, yeah.”

You start to flush. “Did it do anything, um, embarrassing?”

“stripped down bare and did the tango.”

You fake a scowl and shove him lightly. “That’s not what I mean.” 

He chuckles. “no, nothing embarrassing.”

“Then why were you blushing?” you counter.

His cheeks turn a slightly darker blue. “just, um…well…near the end i could feel how you felt about me. and it was nice, is all. it felt like you loved me.”

You frown. “I’ve already said I do.”

“yeah, but…” He shrugs self-deprecatingly. “it’s hard sometimes to believe it.”

“Well, then.” You scoot in closer to him, pulling him down onto the carpet, resting your head on his shoulder, and staring up at your SOULs as they dance around together. “I’ll just have to spend the rest of my life proving it.” You punctuate the statement with a soft kiss on his cheek.

There’s a comfortable silence, before, “that was so cheesy.”

He can feel you giggle against him. “I got all of my lines from bad rom-coms, what do you expect?”

“is that why you watch them?”

“Obviously. Since the moment I was born, I’ve been stockpiling cliché catchphrases in order to sweep you off your feet.”

“i remain firmly grounded, thank you very much. it’ll take more than that to sweep this skeleton.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“duh. come at me.”

As you swoop in to cover his face with sloppy kisses until he laughs, raising his hands up in surrender, he reflects back on the feeling that he got from your SOUL. It was love, plain and simple. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t the ‘right’ kind. Who had decided what was right and wrong anyway? Any kind of love you had to give him was the kind that was right for him. It was pure and it was good and it was you, and that’s all that really mattered. 

He can’t help but smile at the irony of it all. Because for all you doubt your ability to love, in the end you’re the one who taught him how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TITLE DROP! TITLE DROP! TITLE DRO
> 
> i made it! it's still the 15th here in good ol PDT!! which means it's still 'soul sharing day' (and still my birthday incidentally!) i'm sorry for not getting this out earlier, i was in japan and exhausted and i thought it was fitting to do the soul sharing day chapter on the day of anyway =v=;; 
> 
> thank you so much everybody for putting up with me throughout this story! i've loved getting to hear your stories and perspectives and everything and i'm so grateful for everyone who stuck with this to the end! i love you all!
> 
> also if anyone is interested?? i wrote a small short story about an aromantic princess and i'd love some input! it's the first original work i've written in a while so! it's here if you want to read it *v* http://archiveofourown.org/works/6870331
> 
> see you on the next story!


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